Blood Binds, But Betrayal Blinds
by pen-name0705
Summary: Kidnapped again, Sydney finds herself the prize of a twisted game of chess. The CIA must play wisely, for even their opponent, the Covenant, is at a disadvantage. Upon the will of Rambaldi, this match is about to become a 3-player game. 3.14AU,SV,SS,OCs
1. Title Information

**Title:** Blood Binds - But Betrayal Blinds  
**Author:** Sissypants (or pen-name0705)  
**Permi-Beta:** agentlollipop (She is pretty much the CO-Auther the longer this gets.... GIVE HER PRAISE!)  
**State of piece:** Work In Progress  
**Length:** Long. Very long  
**Rating:** Varies; Usually **PG-13**, maybe will be **R** for future **violence** and **sexual situations**  
**Genre:** Drama  
**Timeline:** AU **post**_ 'Blowback'_, though still very canon, a few things different BEFORE that part. So basically assume everything on the show has happened up until _'The Frame'._ The only thing we assume happened from that episode is _Lauren's father's death._  
**Characters:** This fanfiction does not focus on one character in particular, but rather the entire cast as a whole. Each chapter will tell the story from several different characters' viewpoints. This allows the readers to have a better insight into the inner workings of each character's mind.  
**Relationships:** This story is not primarily driven by relationship. Instead, there is a larger focus on plot and character development. However, different relationships will be occurring throughout the plot, ranging from the conventional to the very unconventional. As a result, it is very likely that there is something here to satisfy every shipper (if not now, then probably later).  
**Summary:** The blood that binds, is thick, like the betrayal that blinds. -- They ripped two years from her life, and still aren't satisfied. When the Covenant kidnaps Sydney Bristow for the second time, those closest to her will do whatever it takes to get her back. But what the CIA does not know, is that K-Directorate also has staked claim on Agent Bristow. Sydney, feeling close to the end, will do everything in her power to right every wrong the Covenant and K-Directorate put forth.  
**Reviews:** Please read _and_ review. Any comments and suggestions will be very helpful in the production of future chapters. Also, this acts as positive reinforcement, which is always very encouraging for a writer.  
**Disclaimer:** All Original Characters belong to **me.** All Canon belong to **JJ. Abrams.**  
**Note:** If you don't _see_ it happen, maybe it _didn't happen._

**Chapters:**

At the moment, this story is currently written up to chapter 35. But, I will be posting the chapters slower on a regular bi-weekly schedule. This is meant to help create gradual interest and to prevent overwhelming readers. A lot of information is given in each chapter and I come from the belief that it will be easier to digest if a little is given at a time.

**Character Glossary:**

As most readers have come to discover. This story has a very large group of characters. To make differentiating them easier, I have provided this glossary that lists the character's name, the actor/actress which portrays him/her, and his/her current role in the plot.

Currently there are over one hundred characters. This list will be updated as new characters are introduced in future chapters.

All characters are listed alphabetically by first name.

**Abigail Michaelis:** Jessica Alba – Covenant agent  
**Aiden Ivanov:** James Franco or Hugh Dancy – Covenant agent  
**Allison Doren:** Merrin Dungey – K-Directorate Double agent  
**Anna Espinoza:** Gina Torres – K-Directorate agent  
**Antonio Plassenegger aka Simon Walker:** Justin Theroux – International criminal/K-Directorate agent  
**Arvin Sloane:** Ron Rifkin – CIA contact  
**Carrie Bowman-Flinkman:** Amanda Foreman – NSA analyst  
**Christine Esperanza:** Mila Jovovich – Covenant agent  
**Elle Williams**: Maggie Gyllenhaal – CIA analyst  
**Emmy Novotna:** Julia Andrews – Mission target/Former OBGYN/Freelance work  
**Eric Weiss:** Greg Grunberg – CIA agent  
**Gerhardt Novotna:** Anthony Hopkins – Misson target/Former OBGYN/Freelance work  
**Heyrovsky:** unknown – Doctor/Nuclear weapons ties  
**Irina Derevko:** Lena Olin – Sydney's mother and international criminal  
**Ivan Rushkin/Patick McCauley:** unknown – International criminal  
**Jack Bristow:** Victor Garber – CIA agent  
**Judy Barnett:** Patty Wettig – CIA in-house psychiatrist  
**Julian Lazarey (AKA. Mr. Sark):** David Anders – Covenant agent  
**Khazari Bomani:** Djimon Hounsou – Covenant agent  
**Lauren Reed:** Melissa George – Covenant double agent  
**Lisa Owen:** Gretchen Mol – Syd, Will, Francie, Danny's College friend/Weiss' girlfriend/ER Nurse  
**McKenas Cole:** Quentin Tarantino – Covenant senior Agent/Liaison  
**Marcus Dixon:** Carl Lumbly – CIA Director  
**Marianske Kafka:** Noami Watts – K-Directorate double agent and Simon's cousin  
**Marshall Flinkman:** Kevin Weisman – CIA technician  
**Matthias Morle:** unknown – International Criminal  
**Michael Vaughn:** Michael Vartan – CIA agent  
**Rade Kientz/Dorian Incontro:** unknown – International criminal  
**Renee Persson:** unknown – International criminal  
**Simon Walker/Antonioa Plassenger:** Justin Theroux – K-Directorate Double Agent  
**Sophia Blumberg:** Lainie Kazan – Weiss' aunt/bakery owner  
**Stephania Mariani:** Eliza Dushku – Covenant agent  
**Suit and Glasses:** Ric Young – Dental torturer  
**Sydney Bristow:** Jennifer Garner – CIA agent  
**Tomas Lazne:** unknown – Researcher  
**William Tippin**: Bradley Cooper – CIA senior analyst

**Fan Art:**

Fan art does exist, unfortunately they most represent future chapters only. There are a couple works up currently, but when the appropriate chapters are posted, links will be provided to any significant.

FFdotnet does not allow you to post a link to anything in a chapter. So, if I can make it work, there will be a LINK in my author info, that will take you to a site, that contains the art work. THANK YOU for your patience. 


	2. Chapter One, The Genesis of Life

**Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds**

ONE – _The Genesis of Life_

Rating: G/PG

Setting: Prague, LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe

Characters: Sydney Bristow, Jack Bristow, Eric Weiss, Marshall Flinkman, Will Tippin, Michael Vaughn, Carrie Bowman, Sark, Lauren Reed, Abigail Michaelis (Jessica Alba) mentioned Marianske Kafka (Naomi Watts), Tomas Lazne (undecided), Emmy (Jessica Andrews) and Gerhardt (Anthony Hopkins) Novotna, Dr. Heyrovsky (undecided)

Length: 3,400 Words  
  
A tight yet suggestive up-do paints the beauty of her face, with all of her auburn brown tresses pulled up and away. She looks eloquent and sophisticated in the black dress that vaguely resembles that of Audrey Hepburn in _Breakfast At Tiffany's_; only of course with a much more resplendent and captivating feel. She slips on one of the long black gloves which ends a little past her elbow. She smiles as a man in an expensive black tuxedo walks into her line of vision within the familiar confines of the mirror. She watches him cross the stiff and fanciful hotel room, picking up a set of expensive cuff links off the nightstand.  
  
He looks up at her as he slips them on, returning her smile. A resistant breeze blows from the cracked window across the room, sending unsettling chills shooting through Sydney's warm body. The Czech Republic in early April is colder than a person would normally expect. And she suddenly wishes her shoulders weren't as bare as they are. He watches as she pulls her other long black glove up her lean feminine arm.  
  
She dilatorily picks up the simple strand of pure white South Sea pearls, half admiring and half examining the precious jewelry. Jack is quickly standing before, taking the necklace from her delicate hands, placing it around her slender neck. "Sydney," he smiles he latches the clasp at the back of her neck. "I had a strand of pearls I wanted to give you when you graduated from High School," He sighs. "But when your mother left, I never relocated them." Sydney looks down for a moment. Then back up at her father, smiling, with her dimples well defined.  
  
"This is just as nice, Dad." She leans in and kisses him on the cheek. "And," She reaches up squeezing one of the pearls. A slight click sounds in the air, only being heard by those who know what it is. At that moment, her mind travels back to the day prior.  
  
"See, these - they - ya know, look like a normal strand of Pearls. That ya know... one might... buy umm, at Tiffany's. Might be like 'Oh Darling, how-um lovely'? And 'Oh yes, I will... what? These are $12,000 what?' Ya know?" Marshall shook his head slightly, watching Sydney's smiling face. "But, you see, these... when you clasp them, and press this pearl." He pressed a pearl near the center; A moderately excited look on his face, "You have a visual feed on a low level close-circuit frequency, sent to Weiss and then... back to us at the CIA. And when you want to take pictures, you use..." He squeezed a different pearl, causing a flash in his eye. "This... one."  
  
Immediately a picture of Marshall's face appeared on the computer screen, and he looked at it for a little over a second. "Oh wow, that's better than my ID card," He rubbed his eyes, and Sydney laughed only lightly, offering her thanks for his help. "No problem - it is my job... and Mitchell kept me up so I had the time to make the second feature..."  
  
Sydney feels the pearls resting on her bare neck. She raises her eyebrows, somewhat excited, like she used to when she was younger, receiving a gift from her father upon the return of one of his many _business trips_. "These ones are equip with a camera." Jack reluctantly smiles at his daughter, hiding the guilt he perpetually feels for the way her life has turned out. He blames himself, and always will.  
  
"Uh, sorry to interrupt your whole sweet father-daughter moment; And it is sweet," They both hear Weiss's voice in their ears. "But I think you're about to pass the 'fashionably late' mark. I mean, just so you know." Sydney scoffs, shaking her head. They're in Prague, preparing to attend a large, banquet for a very well known medical and drug research organization.  
  
Jack takes a preoccupied breath as he crosses back across the hotel room and pins his white rose boutonniere to his lapel, pressing the base of the flowers as he clips it on. He turns back to Sydney who is checking her indefectible make up in the mirror. "Alright," they hear Weiss's voice again, "I have a visual feed from both of you, and I'm patching it back to the CIA," they hear him type as he speaks, holding the last word out for a little while. "Now."  
  
"We have visual." They hear Marshall's voice almost immediately, over the radio as well. Sydney smiles at herself in the mirror, before sighing.  
  
"So Marshall, Weiss and whomever else is watching..." She trails for a moment. "How do I look?" She watches herself in the mirror. And in response she hears Marshall begin to stumble over his words about how she looks, as well as mentioning the visual flaws from the _pearl-cam_ as he's so cleverly named it. She mentally groans as Vaughn's voice tells them they need to get to the banquet. Sydney turns to her father as he holds her coat out for her. Vaughn makes a comment in response to her very apparent eye roll. And with that Jack locks the door, and the two make their way to the elevators.

* * *

Marshall looks up at Vaughn for a moment, who just shrugs. He sits at the computer, waiting for Jack and Sydney to arrive at the banquet. Vaughn looks tired, Marshall thinks to himself, as he types a few commands into the computer. He's testing out the various settings for the _pearl-cam_, as well as the _boutonniere-cam_. He already knows the settings, and their capabilities, but at the present he truly wants to avoid speaking with Agent Vaughn. He never knows what to say to the man, and they don't exactly have any real camaraderie - it's all based on their common connection to Sydney.  
  
Vaughn exhales heavily, almost dramatically, adjusting his headset. He stands behind Marshall, looking around the main room of the Joint Task Force building. It's fairly early - a little past 6 AM - and the building is not exactly empty - It's never empty, for these people don't sleep. He looks up, watching Dixon walk through room in the direction of his office. He turns back to the computer screen, observing the view from the chests of both Bristows. He takes a deep breath, waiting for the two to arrive at the Banquet Hall in the IVAX Pharmaceuticals building. He drifts back to the meeting the day prior as his psyche does a mental checklist of the mission.  
  
Everyone listened intently, per usual, as Dixon informed of the latest news. "The CIA has known for a few years that IVAX Pharmaceuticals in Prague has a group of rogue scientists working within the organization," He stated, making eye contact with various agents. "They are working for The K-Directorate and have many trade ties with the Covenant." Will Tippin quickly stood and crossed to the head of the room. His shoes made soft sounds on the tile floor as he walked. He didn't really blend in with the other people occupying the room, lacking a sleek black suit jacket with the sleeves on his oxford shirt rolled up. He smiled graciously at Dixon, taking his position at the head of the group.  
  
"Alright," He started, with a deep, nervous breath. Simultaneously five headshots of moderately well dressed men and women appeared on the screen. Will took a deep breath. "Franz Heyrovsky" Will's accent wasn't exactly on point with the words, but it didn't exactly stand out either. The first image quickly blew up and appeared larger and in front of all the others. The man in the black and white candid photo had a slightly bushy beard, large nose, and small beady eyes. He held a cell phone to his ear, smoking a large cigar. "He's basically the ring leader of this group - and has many ties with nuclear scientists in the Middle East. Heyrovsky calls all the shots."  
  
He waited a moment as two more images were enlarged, this time a man and a woman. "Gerhardt and Emmy Novotna. They're a married, have been for well over three decades and quite frankly the money behind this operation." The man had very delicate salt-and-pepper colored hair, while the woman had retro-framed glasses and a very tailored hair-do. Both images were simple head shots; probably taken from ID cards. Will continued to speak. "Both are former OB-GYN's... and have been known for supporting and/or participating in stem cell research." Will looked down as the images on the screen changed.  
  
He looked back up at the group, business savvy features spread across his normally friendly face. Two more images appeared on the screen - one of a man probably in his late thirties, and the other of a woman probably in her early thirties. "Finally Tomas Lazne and Marianske Kafka" Will stated, taking a deep breath. Jack watched the man as he prepared to speak about the next two subjects. Lauren looked around the room, before letting her eyes land on Will once more. The screen clicks over to only focus on the man.  
  
"Lazne is the brains of this group. He has various degrees in medical science, and has been working in the research community for over a decade." Will explained. Sydney nodded, taking in the words. Vaughn glanced at her for a moment, and then turned back to the younger man standing at the head of the rotunda. The screen revealed a man with a weathered face, yet soft look. "We don't know of any Terrorist or Intelligence ties. We assume he has none and was brought in on this project for the money, and opportunity to do what has been classified as illegal research."  
  
The image then quickly switched to the woman. She has long blonde hair, and isn't looking at the camera. "Marianske is the one you need to stay away from." Will explained. "She is the brute force behind this group. She has various known terrorist ties and is trained in practically every form of torture known to man." Vaughn watched as Weiss quickly glanced at Sydney with a concerned look on his face. "She's generally dangerous and doesn't hesitate to kill anyone who crosses her path." Vaughn took a deep breath, looking at his wife.  
  
Will then sorted through a stack of papers, handing two stacks to Weiss and Dixon, who quickly got them passed out to everyone in the room. "Now here's the deal, these people work for IVAX Pharmaceuticals, only as a front. They have recently created a new prototype for a truth serum which actually causes paralysis to the part of the brain controlling your ability to keep from saying whatever it is that you're wanting to lie about." Will explained, adjusting his chrome wire-framed glasses slightly. "And it just so happens that the organization is having a banquet Friday evening, at their building where the labs are." Dixon nodded at Will who quickly sat down.  
  
"Sydney and Vaughn - you will be attending this Banquet as researchers for an organization known as MediFam." Dixon explained. Vaughn looked up at Sydney to make eye contact, but found that Jack was looking at him. He quickly diverted back at Dixon. "Your mission is to break into the labs and retrieve a sample of the prototype for the CIA as well as take pictures of the lab." Sydney nodded. "Marshall will have cameras prepared for you by this afternoon. Weiss, you're on comm. You will be leaving for Prague in 18 hours." And with that everyone stood from the tables, leaving the room.  
  
Vaughn exhales heavily continuing to stand and look over Marshall. He's quite perturbed that he isn't on the mission - however Jack received Intel that a man he had encountered in a prior mission would be in attendance. And Jack then, of course, expressed concern that his involvement might jeopardize the mission. He knows, however, that it was all a power play to keep Vaughn from attending the mission with his daughter.  
  
"Alright." They hear Weiss in their headsets. His role on the mission, aside from transmitting to the CIA and doing comm work, is actually to be Sydney and her father's driver in a black town car. "We're approaching the building."

* * *

Sark's icy blue eyes shoot open as he hears the low comforting ring of a cell phone. He takes a deep breath, and leans over the side of the tall four post cherry wood bed, holding on to the lavish blankets. The muscles on his back contract as he reaches over the side of the bed for his black pants which lay in a pile on the floor. And he swiftly pulls his black phone from the pocket, turning it on at the same time. "Yes?" He states into the phone, easing himself back into the bed where he's been laying. The darkened room is dressed with rich reds, accented by soft gold hues. His head rests upon soft cream colored cotton sheets.  
  
"Oh - No sexually degrading pet name this time?" He hears Lauren Reed's soft voice on the other end, and smiles. Sark scratches his head for a moment, letting his eyes hold shut for longer than a blink. He takes a long deep breath, breathing in the intoxicating scent of musk and fresh strawberries lingering in the air.  
  
He lets a grin rest on his smug face. "Not this time, darling." He answers. Their banter is probably one of the highlights of his day. However, lately it seems to have become tired, mundane even. The point of the banter - the reason he likes it so much - is to _bother_ Ms. Reed. But now that she's grown accustomed to it, now that she likes it, it truly lacks the same appeal it had before. He doesn't appreciate it when things he enjoys become tainted.  
  
He waits for her response, not really wanting to talk to her at the present. But then again, he never really wants to spend a lot of time talking to her anymore. "I'm at the CIA." She states. And Sark nods, knowing she can't see him. "Sydney and her father are set to arrive at IVAX within the quarter hour." Sark grins once more, knowing the strained communication is coming to a blistering halt.  
  
"Very well," He responds, and quickly hangs his phone up. He doesn't want to prolong this conversation any longer than it has to be. And he's thrilled that it's over. He looks to his right, seeing the long dark brown tresses strewn about the plush pillow next to him. And he takes a deep breath turning his phone on and dialing a different number. He waits until the line is activated. "They're arriving, so you're on." He states. And he waits a moment, hearing the person on the other end respond. He hangs up almost immediately.  
  
Sark breathes heavily as he places his phone on the nightstand. He then turns back to his right, a sly smile spreading across his thin lips. The woman is asleep, and looks quite peaceful lying on her back with her face turned toward him. Her left hand rests on her chest. He grins, remembering the moans made by the woman a matter of minutes before. She truly is a vocal lover, gasping his name and grasping his back. He loves that feeling - the feeling that she needs his every move and thrust as her well manicured nails dig into his strong flesh.  
  
She seems so very peaceful and idyllic that he really doesn't want to wake her. A part of him simply wants to let her sleep, enjoying her slumber. He wants to just watch her Adonis like body move only slightly as she breathes. He wants to feel the comfort that she feels as well. But he knows that must end, considering the tasks at hand, and the patrons to arrive within the next few minutes. He never knew that demanding a job as senior management in the Covenant would involve actually managing operatives. But he should have figured such - the Covenant, falling only second to SD-6, is far more orderly than most other organizations he's worked for.  
  
He gently places his hand on the sleeping woman's shoulder and suddenly is met with the painful grasp she has on his wrist. She is forcefully pulling him toward her and pushing him onto the bed. In an instant she is on his back, her gray silk nightgown bunched up around her smooth thighs. And she holds him there, his wrist behind his back and his face smothering into the pillows as she gets a mental grasp on the situation.  
  
Sark smiles when she lets him go, realizing what she's done. "Abigail." His voice is soft and sweet. She eases off of him, slipping back to her side of the bed. He rubs his hand up her collarbone, her skin the pleasant color of sepia toned photography. And he leans in, pressing his lips to hers. "We've got to work on this waking thing." She rolls her eyes, kissing him back, feeling as his hands run through her hair, massaging her scalp.

* * *

Vaughn glances up at Will as he enters the room. He has that bright trademark _Will Tippin smile_ spread across his face. And he looks far too awake, carrying the cup of coffee in his left hand. "Good morning," He leans in, greeting Carrie and giving her a swift kiss on the cheek. "You're glowing." He gives her the compliment and she shrugs. Vaughn watches as Will then approaches them, placing the cup of coffee on computer table. "Marshall, how's Prague?" He questions.  
  
"Umm, well all I've seen is the inside of the car, so not sure yet." The man answers. And Will nods. His clothes are neat and pressed. His shirt is a maroon and merlot color, with a matching dark red tie. His hair, though shorter than usual, holds its customary and pleasant tousled style. He looks up at Vaughn for a moment, giving him a friendly smile. Vaughn responds with a nod.  
  
Will's attention then returns to Marshall who is rechecking the settings on his computer. "This coffee is for you." Marshall quickly looks up at him, a reasonably surprised expression painted upon his face. "So drink it, I'm sure you need it."  
"Thanks, actually... I kinda do." And Will smiles, walking over to Vaughn. He rubs his eyes behind his glasses just before approaching the agent.  
  
"So, everything going smoothly?" He asks. Vaughn finds it insanely discouraging to hate the man. He's never actually hated Will, but he doesn't exactly like him anymore; especially upon his discovery about the experience between the other man and Sydney in Poland.  
  
For the rest of his life, Will is going deny coming back to the CIA because of that encounter with Sydney. But he knows it's true. He still remembers vividly the look on Sydney's face as she entered Dixon's office, following the mission in which she and Vaughn ran into Sark on the boat in Lisbon. She was both shocked and thrilled at the same time. Her face - specifically her smile - is what sealed the deal for him. After Sydney saw him, and they went to Poland, all he could do was think about her. Yes, he went back to Wisconsin. But he couldn't stay away.  
  
"Patching the surveillance video now." Vaughn hears Weiss's voice in his ear. He motions to the computer, Will spinning on his heal, grabbing a headset of his own. He revels in the heightened clearance he now has within the CIA. Marshall masterfully glides his fingers across the computer keys, typing commands.  
  
"There's a corridor leaving from the southeast corner of the Banquet Hall - and at the end of that is a bank of elevators. Once inside you'll need to remove the panel and access the security keypad - there you'll use the device I gave you so I can fabricate the code, granting you access." Marshall explains in a hurried voice. They all hear as Sydney gives a positive response, watching the video feeds. Father and daughter enter the lavish room, arm in arm.


	3. Chapter Two, Business As Usual

**Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds**

TWO – _Business As Usual_

Rating: PG/PG-13

Setting: Prague, LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe

Characters: Sydney Bristow, Jack Bristow, Eric Weiss, Marshall Flinkman, Will Tippin, Michael Vaughn, Carrie Bowman, Sark, Abigail Michaelis (Jessica Alba), Marianske Kafka (Naomi Watts), Tomas Lazne (undecided), Emmy (Julie Andrews) and Gerhardt (Anthony Hopkins) Novotna, Dr. Heyrovsky (undecided), Stephania Mariani (Eliza Dushku), Aiden Ivanov (Hugh Dancy or James Franco), Allison Doren, Marcus Dixon

Length: 2,590 Words

Sydney accepts the glass of expensive champagne, graciously thanking the waiter in a soft Russian accent. "Alright," She hears Will's voice in her ear and smiles. He's the only shining beacon of comfort and hope in her life anymore, and she's thankful to have him in her ear right now. "I see Heyrovsky and the Novotnas - to your left Syd." Sydney then turns slightly, glancing in the direction of the three individuals. Aside from the images of the lab, the CIA wants to retrieve of the laboratories, they are looking to gain some kind of substantial proof from the scientists themselves. Hoping to get video of the scientists admitting their affiliation with the illegal research at hand.  
  
She approaches the group of people, father quick to her side, and they begin a conversation, in German. "Hallo Doktoren" Her words are flawless, getting the attention of the suspected. "Es überrascht, Sie zu treffen, habe ich auf Ihrer Forschung studiert und habe Ihre Arbeit bewundert." She listens as her father pipes in, quickly introducing them with their Aliases - Wilhelm and Ekaterina Friedrich. "Ich habe gehört, daß Sie Beförderungen in beiden Stämmenzellen und neurologischer Forschung machen."  
  
Emmy Novotna nods with a quaint smile. "Ja sind wir sehr stolz auf die Bewegungen innerhalb der medizinischen Gemeinschaft wir haben gemacht, durch die Beiträge von IVAX." Jack frowns at the vague answer. She hasn't quite acknowledged the statements Sydney made about their medical advancements, but she also hasn't denied them. He personally wants to have more concrete proof. The room seems to bustle with noise, though he's not listening to a bit of it. He takes a deep breath, watching as his daughter prolongs the conversation. Jack then turns away from the four people, listening as Sydney continues.  
  
"Lanze is about five feet in front of you Jack." Will states suddenly. Jack squeezes Sydney's arm lightly, before walking in the direction of the scientist. "Tell him you recently read about him in the Euro Medi Research newsletter - mention neurological research." Will dictates. Vaughn adds a few suggestions, and Jack quickly starts the conversation with such.  
  
"Ja! Ich war sehr stolz auf jenen Artikel. Kürzlich meine Forschungsmannschaft und ich, hat entdeckt, daß ein Weg vorübergehend einen Teil vom Gehirn lähmt, das den Patienten von Verarbeitungslügen aufhält." The scientist gushes about his most recent discovery. "Ein Wahrheitserum." Jack smiles at the last words, _a truth serum_. And he can hear a positive response in his ear, coming from Weiss. Sydney is quickly at his side once more as they walk away from Lanze.  
  
"You got it?" She whispers. And all Jack does in response is smile at her. They quickly receive the 'OK' from Weiss to slip out of the party. Once in the stark white corridor, both Jack and Sydney rush down the hall. They enter the elevator, and Jack hurriedly pulls a screwdriver from his Tux jacket. He removes the elevator panel, just as Marshall directed before, and Sydney pulls the tiny transmitting device from her purse, clamping it on to two of the wires at once - green and black.  
  
Immediately they hear Weiss boldly reciting a code to them. Jack punches it in: 194-7855-63-259-6102-03. The instant following, the elevator starts up and the two make their descent to the sub-basement. On the way, Sydney glances at her father, sighing, as he slips the 7 inch Phillips Screw-driver into the pocket on the inside of his jacket.

* * *

Sark looks up, watching the way Allison crosses the room, her hips are a seductive sashay. She smiles at him, wearing tight black pants and a black leather jacket. God, how he used to be able to love her endlessly. She pours herself a drink at the bar on the opposite of the large dining room, before reproaching the large ebony table. She sits down, continuing to watch Sark as he stands feet from her. "Hello Allison." He smiles. And she returns the gesture, taking a slow, long sip on her Scotch neat. He always loved how she could drink anything straight.  
  
Before Allison responds, the woman from before - whom Sark calls Abigail - walks into the room. Her frame is solid and muscular, hair up in a tight messy bun, and she wears a white tank top with black pants - her red bra showing from underneath. "Allison." She smiles, instantly causing a looming sense of tension in the room. Allison doesn't like this woman, at all.  
  
She walks up to Sark and presses her body into his, making him bend down only slightly to retrieve her kiss. She goes by _Abs_, and joined Sark's team a matter of weeks prior - probably closer to a month and a half. She has, however, worked for the covenant for over 18 months. She's one of the most deadly women that Sark has ever met - and that's just the way he likes it. He loves making love to a deadly, dangerous woman, not knowing if she's going to snap. It's pure adrenaline.  
  
Abs quietly slips into a chair across from Allison. Sark can feel the palpable trepidation dressing the room in dark tones. A few candelabra's illuminate various areas, reflecting on the shiny wood flow, but none light the entire room; leaving a mysterious tone. The essence is filled of glows with flaxen shades, caramel hues coating dark dispositions. He turns from the two women, inciting the invariable glaring match. They don't like each other. But why would they? He doesn't know why it is that he does this - but bottom line he gets sick of women and moves on. He's gotten sick of Allison, he's gotten sick of Lauren. And soon he'll be sick of -  
  
Another woman walks in the room, this one with a hurried pace. She wears a plain light gray trench coat. Her legs are bare, shiny and silky smooth, and she wears black four inch Manolo Blahniks. She opens the trench once she's before the table, revealing a seductive black Spanish dress which ends scandalously around her milky white thighs. Sark watches as she folds the coat, instantly pulling four concealed weapons from it and setting them on the table. They're an assortment of guns and knives.  
  
He looks into her eyes, and right before the other women, leans in and presses his lips to her collarbone. He pulls away and looks into his eyes, licking her lips slightly. She turns, walking away from him. She then sits down at the table, not near Allison or Abs. Sark presses his lips together - no, he's not tired of Steph yet either. "Who the fuck are we waiting for?" He hears her voice, boldly ordering him to answer from the end of the table.  
  
"Stephania, love, be patient." Sark responds. He watches the three women, knowing each of their bodies better than he knows his own. The looks being exchanged between the three women are intimidating, arctic icy chills shooting from eyes to pierce souls. He knows that if he leaves the room and the conditions are right, they'll all kill one another. Which of course he does not want, otherwise Lauren Reed will be the only one left. He does not want Lauren Reed to be the only one left. Period. And so his harem shall stay as it is, awaiting the arrival of the final member of the team. A member to which Sark does not make love to once a week - the only member that Sark feels he can predict his every move, based on blood.  
  
They turn at the sound of feet walking down the hall. And all watch as the man dressed in black on black enters the room. "Yeah I'm here, carry on." The Russian accent slowly exits the tall man's lips as he crosses the room, sitting at the end of the table, next to Steph. She looks up at him giving him a seductive and suggestive grin. He looks at her, then back to the table as he pulls a small plastic bag from his dark pea coat pocket, before removing the piece of clothing and dropping it to the floor. He wears black pants with a matching black oxford shirt and an expensive dark charcoal tie - the only bit of color aside from onyx in his attire.  
  
"Aiden, so lovely you could join us." Sark grumbles slightly, rolling his eyes. He means to be sarcastic, for he is moderately irritated with him. And the man with dark curly locks resting around his head looks up, his dark brown eyes staring at Sark. He is the antithesis of Sark. He is the Julian Lazeray Sark will never be. He embodies the characteristics of a Romonav. He is Russian by blood and by duty. Sark watches as the man empties the bag onto the table - rolling papers, a lighter, and a small bag of dried tobacco.  
  
Instantly Abs growls. "You're not smoking in here." Her words rip through the room, meant to tear at Aiden's flesh. And the man who is currently rolling his own cigarettes looks up, nodding. He's charming and manipulative.  
  
"Sure," He stands, to leave the table.  
  
"Sit down." Sark snaps, and he then turns to Abs who has an irritated look on her face. "He won't smoke in here."

* * *

Vaughn watches as Dixon finally grabs his head set, and the four men all observe the screen, seeing the views from both Jack and Sydney. They've finally reached the laboratories, and Sydney is taking pictures while Jack searches for the serum. They both work quickly, though it seems, not quick enough. "Oh... no no no." They all look at Marshall, then to the surveillance video on a separate computer. A woman in a military uniform is running down a corridor in the direction of the lab. Will squints at the screen, and quickly starts sifting through photographs on the table.  
  
"It's Kafka!" He loudly states.  
  
"You've got to get out of there." Vaughn adds. "She has a weapon drawn already." All hold their breath as Marianske enters the room, watching the events in black and white. Immediately she and Sydney are engaged in a fight, both attempting to over power the other. Sydney kicks the woman's gun out of her hand, the weapon landing in front of her father. And Jack retrieves it. He spots the serum prototype and grabs it, slipping the small bottle into his pants pocket.  
  
Kafka punches Sydney, beginning to over power her. And she suddenly pulls a knife from a strap at her ankle. Sydney feels the sting as the woman slices into the flesh on her upper arm, clearly missing her neck. They struggle for the knife, before some how the CIA agent gets the other woman to drop it. Sydney then throws Marianske across a table of glass beakers, the woman landing on the floor. Before she has the opportunity to stand and continue to fight, she hears the click as her gun is cocked. Jack holds the weapon, aimed at the woman who's on the floor. He and Sydney then slip out of the room, locking it on their way out.  
  
Simultaneously all four men watching let out a sigh of relief. Marshall continues to watch the lab surveillance, as Marianske commences trying to escape from the lab. She even throws a chair at the door in a blatant display of rage and fury.  
  
"Weiss, get the car around the back!" Jack yells as he and his daughter run to the elevator. The elevator doesn't open and immediately Marshall tells them exactly how to get to a stairwell. Sydney and her father then begin the ascension of the three flights of stairs. Through Jack's camera, they see the blood practically pouring from Sydney's left arm. Will bites his lip as they all watch Marianske get out of the laboratory, running to the elevator.  
  
Will leans in, squinting again. "What was that?" he asks. And All four men heard the same thing he did in their head sets, none very sure of what it was - metal bouncing and clanging on the stairs. Eyes then divert back to the surveillance footage of Marianske at the elevator. She also gives up waiting and runs to the stairs.  
  
"Kafka is in the stairs too!" Dixon warns. Sydney and her father both exit and lock the door, before heading to the back exit. It is then that they realize the only way to the back exit is to go back to through the banquet. Jack quickly takes his jacket off, slipping it on to his daughter, before they re-enter the extravagant room. Sydney walks in front of her father by a few feet, brushing past people. And all gasp, as someone suddenly grabs her, a gun instantly drawn and held to her head.  
  
Jack halts his movements, reaching for Kafka's gun, realizing that it dropped in the stairwell.

* * *

A plain manila folder falls in front of each person sitting at the table, as Sark walks back to the front. They're all in one of the many villa's owned by the Covenant all over Europe and the rest of the world. This one is Dresden, Germany, a town known for expensive art and beautiful music. As he goes back to the head of the table, he doesn't sit in the chair, only moves it out of the way to stand before the four people. He observes as they all resist flipping through their folders. Sark then proceeds to open his folder.  
  
"Alright." He begins. "Right now, in Prague, IVAX Pharmaceuticals is having a banquet. As you all know, the K Directorate has a team of scientists working for them. And they have created a prototype for a new truth serum, which causes temporary paralysis." Sark pulls a small bottle from his pocket and places it on the table. Steph quickly snatches it up, reading the words on the label. "Now why would we want this, when we have Steph?" He questions, nodding at the dark haired woman. And all stay silent. Abs pulls the first paper from her folder and reads through it - all information on the serum.  
  
"I suppose because we're getting rid of Steph?" Allison suddenly states. And Aiden lets a low laugh leave his lips, then turns back to the woman next to him, who has rage growing from behind her eyes.  
  
Sark shakes his head, "No. Because this can be used as regular paralysis inducer - It's very local, working only in small areas of the body, so if we were to inject it into someone's leg, arm, whatever it may be - the desired area would be paralyzed. Also, it's a trade commodity, especially with other organizations." Allison nods, while Aiden just stares at Sark, expectantly. "But that's beside the point - the CIA sent Agents Bristow _and_ Bristow to the banquet to retrieve this. They think we have agents there as well, and they're getting the prototype before us. Obviously not, if I have it right here. The importance of this, however, is to retrieve an even more important trade commodity." Sark finishes his words, and pulls another paper from his file - it's an image. "Sydney Bristow."  
  
Abs raises her eyebrows, listening. Sark lets a sly smile spread across his face, exhaling. "Simon Walker - whom Jack Bristow believes he killed - has just entered the IVAX Pharmaceuticals banquet, and taken Sydney Bristow as a hostage." 


	4. Chapter Three, Identical Deeds

**Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds**

THREE – _Identical Deeds_

Rating: PG/PG-13

Setting: Prague, LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe

Characters: Sydney Bristow, Jack Bristow, Eric Weiss, Marshall Flinkman, Will Tippin, Michael Vaughn, Elle Williams (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Marianske Kafka (Naomi Watts), Marcus Dixon mentioned Renee Persson (undecided), Matthias Mohrle (undecided), Antonio Plassenegger, Rade Kientz (undecided), Ivan Rushkin (undecided), Khazari Bomani

Length: 1,212 Words

Jack steadies himself, watching the dark haired, and vibrant man hold his daughter. The man he killed - Simon Walker. Jack's blood is boiling. First this man has the audacity to take his daughter hostage, but he's also throwing the fact that he was sloppy back in his face. Jack curses himself for not shooting the man in the head - and opting for the chest. Jack vows to himself that he _will_ kill this man. He _won't_ be sloppy this time.  
  
The people in the banquet hall scream, crouching at the site of the gun. The group parts, leaving a direct line between Jack and his daughter's fate. A direct line, only 7 feet of space, between him and Simon Walker. And Simon stands, across the room, wearing a black tuxedo, holding the gun at Sydney's head, pulling her backward. He smiles. "You!" He yells at Jack. Jack stands alone, feeling helpless. "So, we meet again, Agent Bristow." His words are cliché, but oddly suitable for this situation. Simon leans in and sniffs Sydney's hair, keeping his eyes on Jack the entire time.  
  
"Let her go!" Jack yells. Sydney shakes her head. In times like this, her courage always overpowers her better judgment. She'll throw her life in the line of danger, in front of anyone else. She will sacrifice herself, always, if it means there will be a better good. Jack hates that about his daughter. He wishes she would think about herself, and the risks facing her. But he knows she won't. "Simon, we'll get you whatever you want; we'll meet your demands - just let my daughter go. You have my word." Jack boldly states. Sydney is breathing heavy, searching her mind for a way to escape the man's grasp.  
  
"No." Simon's voice is low, because he knows it doesn't need to carry - he knows Jack Bristow will listen either way. "No, I believe you'll meet my demands, and _then_ you'll get your daughter back." Simon grins. He raises his eyebrows in Jack's direction. Jack nods. "Good, good." He continues to walk backwards, pulling Sydney with him, toward the door. "You will get the CIA to release Rene Persson and Mathias Mohrle. Your daughter will make contact with you concerning their release in..." Simon trails for a moment, thinking, "ten hours."  
  
Sydney's eyes plead with her father, telling him to agree with the demands. "Okay," Jack agrees. And Simon continues to smile. Jack walks forward, as Simon and his daughter move backward for the door.

* * *

"That - those... those names, I know them." Will suddenly states, turning to Vaughn. He covers his mic. "An analyst working beneath me - I think her name is Heidi? - has been researching them." And instantly, Vaughn rips his headset from his skull, Will doing the same. The two men rush through the halls, running and pushing past people along the way. It feels like it's taking forever to get to the department Will works in. They turn corners, and run through the small lobby to where Will's office over sees the 4 beneath him. And once they reach the appropriate door, they don't hesitate to open it. However, just as the moment that Will throws the door open, a female is about to exit the room. "Oh my God!" She yells, her cup of water suddenly spilling across her chest.  
  
"Heidi!" Will's breath is heavy as he tries to speak. She stares at him confused.  
  
"Elle..." She trails slightly, brushing the water off of her blouse. Will begins to speak, out of breath, but Vaughn holds his hand up to stop him. The girl, who is clearly younger than the two men, halts as the man she's never seen before begins to speak.  
  
He turns to the girl who looks completely shocked and confused. "Do you know who Rene Persson and Mathias Mohrle are?" Vaughn quickly asks. She nods, slowly, brown eyes behind black-framed glasses full of concern. She gulps hard before speaking  
  
"Umm yes, they work for Antonio Joakim Plassenegger and Ivan Rushkin - Rene and Mathias are half brothers, German, ties in Russia with a man named Rade Kientz. I did 40 pages in report on them a couple weeks ago - major weapon's dealers (mostly with a man named Bomani), minor drug trafficking, a lot of barbiturates in... sex fetish clubs actually -" She's cut off by Vaughn's nodding face, telling her to stop. The whole exchange is completely dizzying to her. She subconsciously bites the inside of her lip.  
  
"Alright, we need you - right now." He forcefully states. Will grabs the woman's arm and the three then run back through the halls.

* * *

Simon Walker continues to hold the gun to the girl's head, practically bruising her skull, as he pulls her out of the building. Jack runs after them, but just misses as Sydney is thrown into a car with Walker. Immediately Weiss has the car to the front of the building, picking Jack up. He tosses a gun to the man as the car takes off. They drive through the streets of Prague, Jack shooting at the car in front.  
  
The chase keeps up for a while, Weiss staying close behind the black car with tinted windows in front. Jack shoots the back window the car, obscuring the vision of the driver in front. Walker's car swerves slightly, before it suddenly turns down a street unexpectedly. Weiss misses the turn, and drives past it slightly, before sharply turning 180 degrees and then into the street, Jack holding on to the dashboard and open window frame.  
  
They turn down the dark black night enveloped street, spotting the red lights from the other car up ahead, turning down another street. Weiss quickly maneuvers the car to that street and turns on it, just in time to see Simon's car turn off of it. However, the second they get down that street, Walker's car is gone. "Son of a bitch!" Jack yells, slamming his fist against the seat of the car.  
  
They slowly drove down the streets, keeping a look out for the car. Jack continues to curse frustrated, hoping they'll spot his daughter. "I still have Sydney's signal!" They hear Marshall exclaim. Weiss turns to Jack.  
  
"That means she's close. This is a short range feed!" He exclaims. And Jack nods, sighing at the same time.

* * *

Marshall diligently types at his computer, strengthening the signal from Sydney's com. Dixon leans forward, anticipating every event and action. He looks up as Will, Vaughn, and a woman he's only seen a few times, remembering being introduced to her when he made Director. Quickly the two men grab their headsets once more. "What's happening, Marshall?" Vaughn asks. The girl stands back, watching, almost in awe.  
  
"Well we still have both visual and audio feeds." He states, typing continually. "That means she's within two hundred yards." He explains. Will takes a deep breath and holds it in. However they all watch as the video feed gives out. "They're still moving."  
  
They listen, hearing muffled words coming through Sydney's com-link. A loud gasp and scream comes through their earpieces before the audio cuts out as well. Slowly Marshall turns to everyone. "The signal is dead."


	5. Chapter Four, Slaughtered Aspiration

**Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds**

FOUR – _Slaughtered Aspiration_

Rating: PG/PG-13

Setting: Prague, LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe

Characters: Will Tippin, Elle Williams (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Michael Vaughn, Marcus Dixon, Sark, Aiden Ivanov (Hugh Dancy or James Franco), Abs Michaelis (Jessica Alba), Steph Mariani (Eliza Dushku), Allison Doren, Lauren Reed, Jack Bristow, Eric Weiss, Sydney Bristow, Simon Walker, McKenas Cole mentionedIrina Derevko

Length: 2,663Words

The feeling in the room goes from a sense of anticipation and nerves in the air, to a looming cloud of uncertainty and sadness. Will slowly removes his head set, looking at the woman he and Vaughn rushed in, letting a heavy breath leave his mouth. He looks down, then back up at her, from behind his wire framed glasses. "What... what does that mean?" She asks, looking at him. Instantly he begins to feel upset, praying that somehow Sydney will make contact.  
  
Will closes his eyes, shaking his head for a moment. He doesn't want to lose Sydney again. She is his best friend and the only one who understands him anymore. "That means we just lost an agent." Dixon states, taking his head set off as well. Instantly Vaughn rips his from his head angrily throwing it down on the floor. Marshall looks up at him, pulling the chord from the headset up so it's back on the table.  
  
"Damn it!" Vaughn's outburst is short as he quickly walks away from everyone, breathing heavily. His shoes beat on the floor making a loud snapping sound in the silence. The woman turns from Dixon to Will, taking a deep breath. And suddenly Vaughn comes storming back. "This is all his fault!" He loudly states, getting the attention of many people who have nothing to do with this particular mission.  
  
"Vaughn!" Dixon scolds the man. But Vaughn doesn't hold back. He breathes heavily.  
  
"He puts himself on these missions with his daughter! And what for? So Simon Walker can kidnap her? This is bull shit!" Vaughn continues his outburst, clenching his fists until his knuckles are white.  
  
"Agent Vaughn, control yourself." Dixon's words are strong and harsh. Vaughn stares at him for a second before he angrily takes a chair pushing it forcefully across the room into the wall. The chair bounces back, leaving a noticeable dent in the dry wall and large chip in the paint. "Vaughn-"  
  
"NO!" He yells, looking completely out of control. He yanks at his tie, and pulls it off hastily, because he can't think of anything else to take his anger out on. "Jack Bristow is fucking things up! He always has."  
  
"Get her out of here." Dixon says to Will about the girl standing next to him. He nods. "Vaughn, in my office, now." His voice depicts his anger, sending chills through Will's spine.  
  
"Come on Heidi." He says to the girl. The two then exit the large open room, and walk down the halls in the direction of their offices. They both walk silently for a few moments, as she continues to mess with the damp spot on her light blue blouse. She then looks up at him.  
  
"Umm, Mr. Tippin-" He cuts her off quickly, holding his hand up.  
  
"Please, call me Will." He's very gracious, smiling at her. And she nods.  
  
"Yeah, see okay, well will you please call me Elle?" She questions. Will looks at her, confusing looming in his light blue eyes.  
  
"Elle?" He questions. She nods, almost apologetically.  
  
And she sighs, holding a hand out for a moment. She shrugs. "It's my name. Not, Heidi."  
  
Will laughs quietly to himself as they turn down a different hall. "Heidi, Elle, same difference." She looks at him, confused.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Both models." Will answers, opening a door for her as they enter into a different area of the building. She shakes her head a little, eyes wide.  
  
"Of which I am not..." She laughs, making the mood light. And Will appreciates it. He then takes a deep breath as they enter the common area of the offices he and the four working below him share.  
  
"Marshall will have those tapes ready for you to view later this afternoon." He explains, opening the door to her personal office. "Elle, this agent whom we... lost... is a close friend of mine, so I'm sure you understand the severity of the situation."  
  
"Yes sir." She smiles, before turning and entering her office. Will nods, leaving for his own office.

* * *

Sark watches as Aiden stands from the table, walking over to the balcony doors. He opens them sending cold breezes running through the dining room. He stands there alone, smoking his cigarette he just rolled, and Abs looks up at Sark, sighing. Right now, the matter at hand is simply waiting - waiting to see how Simon does in Prague. Sark picks the bottle of paralysis inducing truth serum off the table, slipping it into his pocket. Steph watches him as he collects all the folders, walking to a small table on the opposite side of the room.  
  
Allison sighs and reaches across the table, grabbing one of the many guns Steph placed on the surface when taking her jacket off. She then proceeds to take the weapon apart, counting the 14 round clip. She raises her eyes in the direction of Steph, who just takes a deep breath, sitting alone. Abs reaches over as well and grabs one of the knives. She holds the 10-inch dagger at its handle, letting the tip of the sharp blade balance on the beautiful wood table. She then begins to turn the knife, slowly, pressing into the wood, watching the small slivers of lumber curl out of the hole being drilled.  
  
Destruction is one of the woman's favorite things. She likes to see the result of her destruction, and most of all enjoys breaking anything beautiful. She'll throw $100,000 vases on the floor to see them shatter. She'll burn priceless paintings. She hasn't really been able to destroy anything beautiful in the material sense lately - since she and Sark became intimate. Sark doesn't like it when she does this. He doesn't like to see her destroying his beautiful things. Though he does understand it. He can recall an occasion where they both spent an afternoon shooting priceless vases.  
  
She's taken her rage out on him before - her favorite past time being ripping up his Armani suits. She's caused him to get five separate custom paint jobs on his Enzo due to her favorite knife running along the automobile. And he'll never forget the day she turned one of his most expensive bottles of wine into a Molotov cocktail. She even once threw his laptop out of a 4th floor window into a pool below. But most of all, she likes to destroy beautiful faces. Abs is brutal. Abs is dangerous. Abs is adrenaline.  
  
And Steph is pain. The twenty-eight year old has been floating around the covenant and other organizations Sark has been affiliated with since she was in her late teens - never having finished school. But that didn't stop her from becoming what she is. She specializes in interrogation and torture techniques. This woman has interrogated Sark himself when the Covenant thought he wasn't working in their best interest. That's when he first got the real scope of her talents. From then on, the two became involved in a roller coaster of a relationship. He truly respects her talents and the pain she embodies. She is by far one of his favorite operatives he's ever worked with.  
  
Her talents are immeasurable. She's a chemist, and spends a lot of time creating her own brews for torture. She actually helped McKenas Cole enhance the 'Needles Of Fire' he likes to use in interrogations these days by extracting oils from the pulps and seeds of the hottest peppers in all the world. It took her a few months straight, but some how, she made them better than the man he originally received the evil acupuncture devices from. He now calls her his little 'Mad Scientist', or his personal favorite title for her: The Devil's Alchemist. He tells people she sold her soul in exchange for a Chemistry set when she was a preteen. She is Cole's favorite operative as well.  
  
Sark watches as Steph stands and walks to the balcony where Aiden is still smoking. Aiden. Sark scoffs at the name and the man he knows by it. He's known Aiden for longer than he likes to think about - having met him when Irina was training him. And it's not that Sark _doesn't like_ Aiden, though he does, but it's that they're basically rivals. They're pretty much the same age, both being in their early twenties, and on the outside they both have and embody the same ambitions.  
  
But on the other hand he does respect the man. Aiden is probably the smartest man he has ever met in his life. He thinks, as the Americans say 'outside the box'. The words and thoughts from the man are amazing, intriguing and oddly stupefying. He is well read, cultured and philosophical. He seems to retain a brilliant amount of information, and also uses it as his most deadly of weapons. And so ultimately, even though he does not like Aiden as much as he should, he still admires the man immensely.  
  
He watches the way Steph takes a slow long drag off of Aiden's cigarette. She then rubs her hand along his back, letting her fingers trail his spine, whispering into his ear. The two come back in from the balcony, shutting the 10-foot doors with them. They then, with out speaking to anyone, exit the dining room, heading down the hall for one of the many bedroom suites. Sark exhales heavily, watching Abs continue to drill a hole into the insanely expensive table.  
  
"Abigail, must you do that?" Sark asks sighing. She woman looks up at him, stray hairs falling into her face. She stares straight into his eyes as she continues with the knife. "It's not good for the knife, darling. Let the table alone." He instructs. And she lets her eyes widen, then glare at him while she presses the knife harder into the wood. More and more curls of woodpile around the spinning blade. He can feel passion begin to burn in the pit of his stomach, pressing his lips together. "Destruction is not flattering on you." He finally states. And she smiles, biting her lower lip. She stops the knife, keeping his eye contact as she takes her right index finger, bringing it to the sharp blade. His eyes widen as she rubs her finger along it, slightly grazing a small cut into her flesh. A drop of blood begins to roll down the blade.  
  
Suddenly Sark's cell phone rings, breaking their eye contact, and Abs laughs, continuing with her knife-play against the ebony wood. He retrieves his cell phone from his gray suit pants (which match his gray suit jacket and light blue shirt), pulling it to his ear immediately. He's not sure why he opted for so much color since almost every other person on his team has decided to go with black. "Yes?" He asks into the phone, knowing exactly who it is.  
  
"Hi," Lauren's soft voice states. He can't help but smile at her sudden lack of arrogance and attitude following their last contact. She's just so easy to mess with.  
  
"Hello, love." He responds. He watches both Allison and Abs scowl in response, before he walks away from the two women to pour himself a drink. They're all so easy to make jealous. Easy to mess with, easy to bother. His harem can turn into the cattiest bunch of women at the drop of a hat.  
  
He hears Lauren laughing on the other end. "They're panicking over Bristow's capture." She states. He can tell she has a smile spread across her face; red lips contrasting with pale skin.  
  
"Precisely as we want them to do." He answers. And in a sudden surge of interest he asks, "When am I going to see you again?" Abigail and Allison give him matched looks of anger, their mirrored animosity, making them compatriots, sisters in a moment beyond the color of their skin and Sark wonders which one will refuse him tonight. Both perhaps.  
  
Lauren grins, "Considering how the CIA is reacting, probably fairly soon." Sark laughs to himself as he finishes pouring the expensive Brandy into a glass, then swirls the alcohol, letting it warm by the heat of his hand. "I'll see you later."  
  
"Not if I see you first, love." As Sark shuts his cell phone off, Allison laughs, giving him a disapproving look. Abs stabs the dagger into the expensive table, almost violently - the way she's promised to stab him some day. He watches the way the two women both stand. Abs loudly slams her chair into the table, pushing it in. And Allison shakes her head, exhaling heavily. Both women exit the room one after another, disgusted in his comment to Ms. Reed.

* * *

The brisk night seeps into Jack's body, turning his blood to ice water in his veins. He and Weiss swiftly run down the street with flash lights and guns drawn, searching for any clues about where Simon Walker disappeared to with his daughter.  
  
"Son of a bitch!" Jack yells, and Weiss runs over to the older man. They both discover the car Simon and Sydney were in, the back window shattered from Jack's bullet. And they walk around to the driver's door, opening it. A man is slumped over at the wheel, blood and brain matter spread across the inside of the windshield like an impressionistic painting.  
  
Weiss pulls the cell phone from his pocket and calls Dixon to inform him of their discovery. Jack walks around the car, looking inside it. He finds the pearl necklace, and picks it up, slipping it into his pocket. He continues to investigate the vehicle, when Weiss walks over. "We have a plane to catch to LA," He states. Jack nods, before he kicks a wheel of the car, cursing.

* * *

Sydney struggles from Simon Walker's tight grasp as they switch to yet another vehicle. This time it's an SUV. She elbows Simon in the gut, but he doesn't falter a bit, continuing to hold the gun to her head. He then throws the woman into the black Mercedes Benz. She hits her head on the opposite door, before sitting up. "How the hell are you alive?" She asks, growling.  
  
"Seems as though Daddy Bristow is sloppy." Simon smiles, rubbing his hand on her knee. She jerks away, once more hitting her head on the door.  
  
"Pig tails!" Sydney looks up to see McKenas Cole in the passenger seat, turned smiling at her. "So good to see you again." Sydney jerks about as Simon binds her hands behind her back. "I'm glad you dressed up for this occasion."  
  
"Go to hell!" She yells. The car has already started and they're speeding out of Prague once more. She kicks at Cole, who just leans back, laughing slightly. McKenas smiles, then reaches down and touches her smooth leg. She jerks away from his grasp.  
  
"I wonder if I could get that kiss." He chuckles to himself, watching the loathe-some look coming from Sydney's eyes. He blows her a kiss, then licks his lips. She spits in his direction, but he moves just in time to miss the saliva that lands on the inside of the windshield.  
  
Simon raises his eyebrows in response. "I've kissed her." He grins. "She's good."  
  
"So who wants to take bets on how long it will take the CIA to meet our demands?" Cole asks. And Walker laughs, putting his gun away. "Pig tails? You know them best. You have the advantage." He states. Sydney's eyes are a constant glare, still trying to move.  
  
"I am not a negotiation piece - I am an agent of the United States Government!" Sydney growls. "They will not meet your demands." Her hair falls in her face, and Cole leans forward, brushing it out of her face. She tries to spit at him once more, but he pulls his hand away in time.  
  
"Knowing your father, they will." He answers, sitting back in his seat.


	6. Chapter Five, Renaissance of Deception

**Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds**

FIVE – _Renaissance of Deception_

Rating: PG-13 (Sexual Situation)

Setting: LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe, Air Space over the Atlantic

Characters: Lauren Reed, Michael Vaughn, Dr. Barnett, Steph Mariani (Eliza Dushku), Aiden Ivanov (Hugh Dancy), Sark, Abs Michaelis (Jessica Alba), Allison Doren, Jack Bristow, Eric Weiss, Marcus Dixon, Sydney Bristow, McKenas Cole, Simon Walker mentionedWill Tippin, Elle Williams (Maggie Gyllenhaal)

Length: 3,712 Words

Four inch black Gucci heels click on the solid cement floor with every step. Lauren Reed walks like a bitch with a purpose past all the gray tones - like an incomplete paint by number. Her face is in an angry scowl as she passes the empty jail cells, every noise she makes echoing like a bass drum in her ears. A tall, slim guard accompanies her with a perfectly even professional hair cut, who walks a few steps in front of her. Her blonde hair rests on her black pin-stripe suit clad shoulders with curls at the ends, and every step she takes has a bit of a bounce to it. She is pissed off, and she doesn't care who knows it.  
  
She stops when she reaches his cell, pressing her red lips together. The guard unlocks the door, and she enters before he locks it once more. So this is what it's like to be in the custody of the US Government. The guard then stands just outside the cell. Lauren turns to him, anger in her eyes. "You can leave." She states. He shakes his head, preparing to tell her why he has to stay. Instantly her eyes glare at the man - furious with the lack of privacy. "No, you will leave - this is my husband. Go." She slowly says with bold words. The guard takes a deep breath before walking away, and Lauren turns to face Vaughn who sits on the small bed. His suit jacket is folded nicely, draped across the other end, and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone, his sleeves rolled up.  
  
"Lauren," Vaughn sighs, shaking his head. She stands before him, her weight resting on one hip. Her lips are still pressed together, and she waits to hear the excuses that are guaranteed to come from him. "I am... so sorry. I wasn't thinking." He says. She takes a deep breath, letting it out heavily. Her arms are folded across her chest, and Vaughn just sits in shame, words coming slowly. "I lost my temper - I don't know what happened... Dixon threw me in here." He groans, and suddenly stops speaking the second he sees Lauren's hand up in the air. She stares at him, then shakes her head, like a disappointed parent in response to a pathetic report card. Vaughn has been sentenced to the biggest detention of his life, and he deserves to be punished for acting like such a child. He threw a chair across the room and pushed everything off of Dixon's desk. He's damn right he wasn't thinking.  
  
"Michael..." She trails. She watches as he looks up at her. And he's taking the role of the child - the first time detention attendee. The first 'D' ever seen on his report card in his life. Lauren sighs. "Come here." He quickly stands and walks to his wife, taking a deep breath. He's never feared her - save for right now. The shame he feels is immeasurable. She reaches forward and picks at his shirt. "You look like a complete mess." She scolds. He looks into her brown eyes, and a sly grin spreads across her face. "Seeing you like this..." She licks her lips, giving them a fine layer of moisture. His green eyes darken in passion, watching his wife make a pass at him in his jail cell. The moment is surreal and he really can't help what he feels, reaching forward, grabbing the sides of her face. Instantly her lips are on his, kissing him hungrily. And he kisses back, not knowing what has come over him. "Oh God, Michael." She pants, pushing him backward toward the bed.  
  
Vaughn lays down with Lauren straddling him in the small bunk. His hands touch her like he used to - before Sydney was back, and when he still burned for her. He lets his them slowly run down her back to her thighs, slightly bringing her skirt up with them, so he can feel her legs. She kisses his neck, as she, at the same time unbuttons his shirt, revealing his hard abs. "Lauren," Vaughn finds the name escaping his mouth as the woman kisses his bare chest, rubbing and exploring his muscular body. He reaches up and pushes her suit jacket off hastily. It lands on the floor, and his hands are quick, finding the buttons on her white blouse. "Lauren, I've missed you." He mumbles, and she continues to kiss his body, while the man struggles to reach the buttons on her blouse. She pulls away and looks at him, smiling down at his face while he works the buttons.  
  
She then leans in and let's her lips graze his ear. "You've been bad." She whispers at him with her voice taking on tones and portraying things he misses from her, as he finishes unbuttoning her blouse, revealing her black lacy bra. Vaughn's mouth is quickly on the woman's neck, kissing and sucking on her collarbone. He has been bad. He just never knew that doing something like this would ignite such a passion within his wife. And he truly didn't do anything that bad - just lose his temper with Dixon. She's panting as she kisses all over his face, letting her pelvis tease him. Instantly both freeze, like teens caught on the basement couch, as they hear someone coughing. Both Vaughn and Lauren slowly turn to see the owner of the cough, embarrassment painted in shades of red on both faces.  
  
Dr. Barnett stands just outside Vaughn's cell with the guard from before, holding a pad of paper and a pen. Lauren stands, and quickly begins buttoning her shirt, as does Vaughn. "I see I'm interrupting something..." Barnett trails, watching the way Vaughn picks Lauren's jacket up off the floor, taking a deep breath. He dusts it off, before handing it to his wife. She smiles at him, accepting the piece of clothing, and finishes the rest of Vaughn's buttons on his shirt for him. She feels guilty, but she also generally feels for Vaughn - feelings she hasn't felt for her husband in almost a year.  
  
"No." Lauren takes a deep breath. "I was just leaving." She leans in and kisses Vaughn getting lovely sensations in the pit of her stomach has her lips press to his. She feels like it's magic, pulling away just before it turns passionate. She lets her hands rest on his biceps, before she finally lets him go. "When do you suppose you'll be... sprung?" She asks, hesitating on the final word. Vaughn smiles, letting a tiny laugh escape his mouth. And he's smiling at her the way she's seen him smile at Sydney so many times. The guard unlocks the cell, waiting for Lauren to leave.  
  
Vaughn kisses his wife on the upper cheek right by her ear, then on the forehead. "Dixon said I'd be in here for a few hours - until I could _cool off_." Lauren nods, smiling back at him - the way she's seen Sydney smile at him so many times. And he then watches as she leaves, Barnett taking her place in the cell. Immediately he misses her.  
  
"Agent Vaughn, I'm here to talk with you about your anger." Dr. Barnett states. Vaughn stares at the woman, sitting down on his bunk. _Why now?_ he thinks, watching Lauren walk away, her four inch black Gucci heels clicking on the solid cement floor.

* * *

Steph watches the way Aiden crosses the room, dimming the lights. She sits on the bed, legs curled around to the side, and all of her long curly hair resting on one shoulder. Her head is slightly tilted, as she watches him cross the room in the other direction. He sits down in a dark brown leather chair, picking a book up off the nightstand. _The Aeneid_ is all the binding says, in gold leaf lettering. The book its self is hard back, covered in deep blue cloth - old and antique. She licks her lips, staring at him. Why must he read? "Ya know..." Her voice trails, causing him to look up at her. She smiles. "It's really bad for your eyes to read in this kind of lighting." She states. Aiden smiles, nodding. He reaches over and turns the lamp that rests on the table next to him, on.  
  
This frustrates Steph to no end. Why can't he just get a clue? Does she have to take all of her clothes off, lay on the bed and say 'do me now'? She should certainly hope not. She'd like to think, at least, that she has a little more class than that. She rubs her eyes, looking up at the man who seems to have completely submerged himself into a world of Latin words. He's reading of a time of Gods and Goddesses, completely ignoring his closest thing to Mt. Olympus that sits across the room, desperately waiting for him. Steph knows she should probably leave the room, find something else to do, because once Aiden begins to read or begins to do something in 'his time' he doesn't like to be interrupted. Introvert could never begin to describe the alone time this boy needs on a daily basis. He has to be able to sit in solitude, meditate and reflect on the day. And that usually is coupled with a good book of some kind, furthering his knowledge of culture and knowledge of self.  
  
But this time, something is making her push. She stands, leaving the bed and walking in his direction. Maybe this will get his attention, because bottom line she burns for him. Aiden looks up at her as she walks in his direction, and he moves the book away, letting her slide into his lap. Her lower back rests on the arm of the chair, and she places her right arm around his neck, running her fingers through his curly hair. Her body fits perfectly with his. He's tall and muscular, while she is somewhat petite, yet powerful. "'ania, have you ever read _The Aeneid_?" He questions. She looks down. She always feels so very uncultured around him. Because for her - if it's not going to help her further her skills in torture and interrogation, truly any of her areas of expertise, she doesn't read it. Steph doesn't read for pleasure, she reads for profit.  
  
Aiden smiles, knowing her answer, and quickly opens the book back to the page he was reading. She looks down at it, seeing Latin projected back into her eyes. He loves to read books in their original languages. "Well it's about this guy named Aeneas. He's sort of the Odysseus to _this_ Odyssey. It was written by a guy named Virgil. And... so Aeneas and his fellow Trojans sail from Troy, which as been destroyed by the Greeks, for Italy. He's destined to found Rome. Aeneas tells of the sack of Troy that ended the Trojan War after ten years of Greek siege. As I'm sure you know, in the final campaign, the Trojans were tricked when they accepted into their city walls a wooden horse that, unbeknownst to them, harbored several Greek soldiers in its hollow belly." Aiden continues to speak, and Steph looks up at his face, just enjoying his words.  
  
Aiden's eyes seem to kind of gloss over as he tells her the story. Steph feels enchanted when he does stuff like this - let her in to who he really is. He doesn't like to take his guard down, and doesn't do it often. "The arrival of the Trojans in Italy begins quite peacefully." His Russian accent seems to disappear at times like these. "See, King Latinus - he's the Italian ruler - extends his hospitality." Aiden reaches over and runs his finger along the line of her face, grazing her lips. "He is hoping that Aeneas will prove to be the foreigner whom, according to a prophecy, his-"  
  
"His daughter Lavinia is supposed to marry." They look up to see Sark standing in the doorway, leaning on the frame, watching them. "Gee Aiden, can I sit on your lap for story-time too?" He sarcastically questions. And Aiden sighs heavily. "Look, I will leave in a second - I'm only hear to tell you that Simon's mission was a success and they're due to arrive in two hours." Sark smiles. He then shakes his head, leaving the room. He walks down the hall in search of Abs and Allison. The two women left him, and he doesn't know where they went. He can hear Aiden's words start up, not sure exactly what he and Steph are doing. And so he continues on his search, looking in each door. He grins to himself as he hears the noise that always means Allison is close by; An AR-15 assault rifle being taken apart and put back together.  
  
He turns into the sparsely decorated room, finding Allison sitting at a table, doing just as he pictured. Abs lays on the couch on her back, with much room to spare. "So, my lovelies, how are things?" He questions. Neither say a word. He didn't expect them to. Sark sighs, sitting down in one of the chairs. Abs continues to lay with her eyes shut, and a part of him wants to walk over and ambush her body with his. He knows that would only insight an angry physical brawl between the two of them, resulting in passionate lovemaking. She can be very sweet and kind with him, especially in bed. An angry fire burns from with in her and she exhibits it in many ways - but when she's in bed with Sark, she's kind. And so is he. They manage to leave everything else out, and make their time together, in bed, about just that.  
  
"Well we have two hours until Simon and Cole arrive with Agent Bristow." Sark states. Allison looks up at him nodding. Abs continues to not move or speak. He wonders if she's even breathing. He notices as she moves, stretching her arms above her head, allowing her stomach to show slightly. And the wait begins. The wait for the captured to arrive, the wait for their plan to begin to really take action and shape.

* * *

Jack looks up as Weiss walks past him in the direction of the back of the private jet. On a regular trip, through civilian airlines, the trip would take well over 15 hours. However, it is only going to take he and Weiss, through cutting out all stop over time and using a faster plane, about 7 and a half hours. Actually cutting the travel time in half. He slowly pulls the cell phone from his pocket, preparing to make a phone call to Dixon. He doesn't want to make this phone call, but the fact is that his daughter is missing and they have to begin to discuss options for her safe return. Jack dials the number, waiting for the man he respects as much as he does, to answer. He takes a deep breath the second he hears that the line has been connected, listening to Dixon's hello. "It's Jack." He states.  
  
"Jack, hi." Dixon's voice is kind of soft and compassionate. Jack doesn't like it. "How are you holding up?" He questions, like he probably would question Sydney had Jack been the one kidnapped. And Jack wishes it had been that way.  
  
He sifts through the papers on the table before him - all of the CIA's private jets are equip with such features. "Listen, Marcus," Jack is using the man's first name to make sure he get his meaning across the way he wants. "We can skip the part where we discuss my feelings on this matter, because I'm sure you know my feelings on it - considering how you felt when the Covenant kidnapped your children." Jack references a very recent event, which still holds a sting in Dixon's heart. "We need to discuss the solution to this situation." Jack states.  
  
"I agree." Dixon responds, remembering the pain and anger cocktail he felt when he received the call, informing him of his children's capture. "We have an analyst here, who has actually researched the men Walker requested be released." Dixon explains. And Jack sits for a moment, thinking.  
  
"Who is this analyst?" He asks. Dixon hesitates for a moment, confused as to why the man wants to know that bit of information.  
  
"Well," Dixon states, taking a few seconds to think and prepare his words. "She is kind of young - and has worked here for about a year. Her name leaves me at the moment." Dixon responds. "She works with Will Tippin."  
  
Jack then stops sorting through the papers, sighing. The events of the day are finally starting to get to him and he's beginning to feel somewhat exhausted. "Alright well, what do you suppose we do?" He questions.  
  
"I'm planning a meeting with you and Weiss, via your cell phones sometime this evening to begin getting things started before you two arrive here." The two then exchange their good-byes, hanging the phones up. Jack rubs his eyes, taking a deep breath, before resting into the back of the seat. He closes his eyes, preparing to allow himself to rest.

* * *

Sydney's arms ache. She's been sitting with her hands bound behind her back for almost an hour now, and the pain is far worse than she thought it would be. Not to mention, the gaping wound on her left arm that has been causing her to shake. She closes her eyes, trying to stay conscious. But the pain she's feeling in her shoulders is more than she can bare. She noticed the screwdriver in her pocket about forty-five minutes ago. And since then she's been desperately trying to find a way to allow herself to be unbound. Her eyes stay closed for longer than any of the other times, now. She doesn't want to fall asleep, succumb to the darkness, but she can't fight it, especially considering the pain she's feeling. She stopped hearing the voices about fifteen minutes ago, as her brain began to focus solely on the pain.  
  
Suddenly, her eyes shoot open as the SUV rolls to a halt. She tries to look out the window, but can't seem to tell where they are. She watches as Simon slips out of the door, and she gets a glimpse of the location as the door shuts. Basically they're somewhere in the German country side, and she puts two and two together, figuring that the man has to relieve himself. She sighs, watching the way Cole turns in his seat and looks at her. "Hey," She doesn't know where she found her voice. She sighs. "Come here." Mckenas takes a long drag on his cigarette, before throwing it out the window. He then slips from the front seat, to the back where she's been sitting.  
  
"Yes, pig tails?" He questions. And Sydney doesn't know why she's doing it, but she leans in and kisses the man, letting her lips linger on his for just long enough. He looks down at her, shocked. She grins, biting her lower lip, letting her dimples define themselves to her. "So, that was unexpected. Entirely for your own advantage, I'm sure." Mckenas Cole is not a stupid man. In fact he's probably one of the smartest men she's ever met in her life. He continues to watch her, waiting for her to speak.  
  
She sighs. "Yes. It is for my advantage." She reluctantly states. Cole raises his eyebrows at her, waiting for more information to leave her mouth. "Listen, my arms hurt, so bad..." She trails. He watches the way she continues to pout at him. And her eyes meet with his, trying to plea with whatever bit of conscience he might still have. But she's always thought he didn't have one. Mckenas Cole is a sociopath. "Please?" She questions.  
  
Cole sighs, before reluctantly moving the woman so she's facing her door - which has been equip with a child lock so she can't get out. "Only because you kissed me." He states, as he begins to untie the binding on her hands. Her plan is to retrieve the screwdriver from her father's tux pocket and stab Cole, hoping like hell that the driver doesn't have a gun and exit through Walker's door. Before her arms are untied, Simon Walker's door opens.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" He questions Cole, who finishes freeing Sydney's arms. Maybe she can kick Cole, stab Walker and make a run for it. However, once she's free, she's still in the middle of the fucking snow covered countryside. Sydney turns, looking at Simon. She hates that a part of her still burns for him.  
  
Cole then quickly slips back into the front, telling Simon that he's letting Sydney's arms free because they were hurting her. Simon rolls his eyes, slipping into the seat next to Sydney now. Her mind races as the car starts again, clearly having missed her opportunity. Using the screwdriver to stab anyone now would clearly be out of vengeance - which she wouldn't mind doing. But who to stab? The only logical answer would be to stab the neck of the driver, whom has yet to speak, and try her chances with what Cole and Walker do in return.  
  
Sydney sits with her hands folded on her lap, for a few minutes as the SUV speeds down the road. She begins to get the feeling back in her arms, even though the pain in her left one is constant. She reaches into the left side inner pocket of the black tux jacket with her right hand excruciatingly slow. And it takes about five minutes, but she gets the screwdriver completely slipped up into her right sleeve, before she returns her arm to her side. The handle of the tool is closest to her hand, while the sharp metal point resides somewhere around the inside of her elbow. Sydney slowly slips her arm up in the sleeve as well, gripping the handle of the seven-inch Phillips screwdriver tightly.


	7. Chapter Six, A Stab in the Dark

**Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds**

SIX – _A Stab In The Dark_

Rating: PG-13 (Graphic Violent Description)

Setting: LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe

Characters: Marshall Flinkman, Carrie Bowman, Mitchell Flinkman, Will Tippin, Sydney Bristow, Simon Walker, McKenas Cole, Elle Williams (Maggie Gyllenhaal), mentioned Arvin Sloane

Length: 3,896 Words

Marshall smiles at Carrie, then turns back to Mitchell who he holds in his arms, a bottle in the child's mouth. He's only seven weeks old, and Carrie actually isn't back to work, like it would seem. She's only there today because they needed her to meet about a report she did on the group of five, working at IVAX. On occasion, however, she does come in for 2 or 3 hours, leaving Mitchell at the day care. Marshall figures it's the fact that she, like him, is completely and utterly addicted to her work. The CIA does that, sucking a person in.  
  
Before Mitchell was born, Marshall had no idea that the CIA had a day care with in its building. But it doesn't surprise him at all. Everyone has babies, even CIA agents. Which has always been a funny thought, because Marshall could never imagine seeing an operative running around a warehouse in Minsk at 6 and a half months of pregnancy. But he can see Sydney doing it... which is weird in its self.  
  
Carrie pulls her hair up into a ponytail, watching the way her husband and son interact. It's not really interaction, as much as it is a primitive exchange. Mitchell needs food and Marshall has food. She watches as Marshall pulls the bottle away and places it on the table, before he holds the baby to his shoulder, lightly tapping his back. She laughs at Marshall's face as the baby spits milk down his back.  
  
"That's what this is for." Carrie states, handing him the towel that is draped over her shoulder. Marshall gives her a pleading look, and she quickly reaches over, wiping most of the milk and saliva off of her husband's back.  
  
"That is really gross." They both turn to see Will Tippin standing a few feet away from them, just inside the doorway of Marshall's office. He kind of cringes, watching Mitchell's face. And he smiles at the baby, taking a few steps forward into the space the small family is sharing. He reaches forward, letting his finger touch the little boy's chin.  
  
Carrie shakes her head, folding and unfolding the small towel. "Would you like to change his diaper?" She questions Will, who shakes his head, smiling.  
  
"Uh, that's okay." Will says, reaching forward and picking up the baby, as Marshall is allowing him to do. "You'd think Marshall would be potty trained by now." He states, holding the child inches from his face. And instantly his voice changes from it's natural tone, to a cooing sound. "Hello, Mitchell!" He makes faces at the child, and lets his lips vibrate as he blows air on to the baby's chubby cheeks; a fit of giggles from the child immediately follows.  
  
Carrie stands, laughing at Will's subtle joke on Marshall, and walks over to the man who is now holding her child. Both Will and Carrie turn as they hear Marshall finally laughing, getting the joke. "I get it, pretty clever, Mr. Tippin." Marshall says, causing Will to chuckle. "So, um... are you here to steal my wife and baby? Cause, ya know, I don't think, I can let you do that." Marshall says as he too stands. He walks over and places his hand on Carrie's back. And she sighs, looking at Will expectantly.  
  
"Well, are you?" She questions as well. "Cause I wouldn't mind." She jokes. And Marshall laughs, before she turns and kisses him swiftly on the lips. Will looks up from Mitchell's face.  
  
"No." He says, and quickly hands the child back to Carrie, who graciously accepts him. "I'm here to see if you have that tape ready, Marshall." Will questions. And Marshall immediately begins nodding, rushing over and grabbing his suit jacket.  
  
He slips it on, before leaning in and kissing Carrie on the lips, followed by kissing Mitchell's head. He leans toward Will for a moment. "I can... ya know, kiss you on the cheek too... if you're feeling left out." He says, and Will laughs, shaking his head vigorously.  
  
"Alright Marshall." Carrie turns, walking over and placing the infant in his black stroller - otherwise known as the safest stroller on the planet. Marshall made sure that every safety precaution was taken, as she would expect it.  
  
"Make sure you check the straps on his car seat before you leave." Marshall informs Carrie. And before he has an opportunity to continue with his litany of procedures, Carrie kisses him on the cheek, leaving the room. He turns back to Will, who shrugs. And the two then leave the room, in the direction of Will's office.

* * *

Sydney's arms ache - again. She's sitting, now with her arms bound behind her back once more. The pain is immeasurable. Her shoulders, her left arm, her wrists are all in agony, now coupled with the ache coming from her head, especially her eye. She wants to drift away, succumb to the excruciating darkness. She looks to her right, seeing McKenas Cole sitting next to her. He gives her a really toothy grin, before he leans in, kissing the poor girl on her cheek. She cringes, letting her mind wander back to the moments just earlier.  
  
Sydney gripped the handle of the seven-inch Phillips screwdriver tight, in her right hand. The point was in the direction of her inner elbow, while the handle was in her palm - the entire weapon was concealed by the sleeve of her father's suit jacket that appeared to be almost humorous in how over sized it was on her arm. She smiled at Simon, who returned the gesture, only slightly. She then leaned over at him, her head resting on his shoulder. Naturally Simon lifted his right arm and placed it around her shoulders. The feeling was almost comforting in the back seat of the SUV, driving through the middle of Europe. It was the feeling of uneasiness and the sense of being lost that felt the most comforted by his embrace.  
  
She let herself rest next to him but for a moment, constantly aware of the weapon she had gripped in her right hand. She knew already that going after the driver would be futile. All it would be able to do was slow the transport down. Ultimately she is destined to go wherever it is that the men are taking her. And she knew that. So the driver was then out of the running. It was then a matter of vengeance or brutality. But the question was which man was which option. She felt vindictive toward both men, and she wanted to brutally assault someone to create a sense of power. So then it turned into which would be more of an advantage to her.  
  
Who could she defeat on her own? She weighed the options wisely. Both men were strong physically and mentally. However, she figured that through brute force alone, she could defeat McKenas Cole. But she could also seduce Simon Walker much easier. In spite of the fact that Cole probably was more attracted to her, he was also less susceptible to her beauty and advances. She continued to think, weighing her options, until she felt Simon's breathing begin to slow and steady. He was getting tired. He was truly beginning to relax around her.  
  
A grin spread across Sydney's face. She couldn't help being somewhat pleased by the fact that he still felt comfortable around her. She let her breathing slow as well to paint the appearance of comfort. And she took a deep breath, preparing herself. She closed her eyes, in one last moment. And is she was a woman who prayed, surrendered herself to the Lord on a regular basis, she would have done so at that moment.  
  
Sydney instantly pulled the screwdriver from her sleeve, stabbing it into Simon Walker's fleshy thigh. He screamed out in pain, eyes tightly shut. And she elbowed the man, taking an immediate move for the door. The SUV stopped, and she climbed over Simon, digging the screwdriver in even further, the sharp metal scraping against his femur bone. She opened the door, and the moment her bare foot - having kicked her shoes off prior - fell on the ground the began to run from the SUV, through the snow.  
  
McKenas Cole was quicker than she thought he would be running after her as well. He had his gun drawn, and could have made a shot, killing her instantly, but did not. Obviously she's an important negotiation piece for them. The only thought that ran through her mind as she felt her body thrown to the snow was about Cole's speed generally surprising her. The snow stung on her bare skin, biting her legs like little sharp-toothed creatures meant only to hurt. Instantly she was rolled over on her back and Cole's fist connected heavy and hard with her left eye. In that moment she let the world slip away, giving in. She woke up, what felt like days later, but truly was only probably twenty minutes, in the back seat of the SUV, still. Her whole body ached, and her arms were once more bound.  
  
Simon sits up front with something taut around his left leg. She kind of regrets what she did, only because she still has to witness the pain she caused for the man. Cole is talking, carrying on about one of his many missions. On occasion she lets her mind listen to his words - he's talking about Sloane. That's one thing they have in common - a solid disdain and hatred for Arvin Sloane and the recently destroyed SD-6. She thinks that if he had gone in a different direction, made different choices - hadn't been so damn crazy - maybe she could respect him, or work with him in that hatred.

* * *

She finds herself watching through the cracked white blinds dressing the window in her office facing the common area shared by herself and her colleagues as her superior enters. She's idle, yet subtly discrete as she lets her brown eyes follow him as he walks into her complete line of vision through her open door. Immediately her eyes divert back to the computer screen, a steady stream of clicking keys filling the space in her office as she pretends to look busy. The words which appear on the open Word Processor, dancing on the flat computer screen, are amusing. She's writing a grocery list, the first thing to come to mind. Eggs, Tampons, Hair Spray, Watch Battery, Jasmine Rice, Frozen Peas, Tissues - square not rectangle box, Tylenol, Glass cleaner, Post-Its, Tooth Paste, Onions...  
  
The knock on her open office door gets Elle's attention immediately, in spite of the fact that her computer never really had it. She looks up to see Will standing in the doorway, a smile draped across his face. His smile is that of a man who would be leaning against the frame, head propped on one arm, and one leg crossed over the other. Instead he stands like that of her superior, as he is. She lets her eyes meet his, and then sits up in her comfortable desk chair as he enters the room with a shorter man whom she recognizes from the events earlier in the day.  
  
"Hey, Elle, this is Marshall Flinkman - you didn't exactly get an introduction earlier - he's got the tapes for you to watch." Will states. And Elle smiles, quickly standing from her desk. She takes a step, slightly tripping in her black heels, then smoothes down the front of her black skirt. She crosses the room and shakes Marshall's hand. And she then stands there for a minute, sniffing the air. Her nose crinkles slightly as she does so, causing her glasses to raise slightly. And Will notices that her hair that was down before, is now pulled back out of her face, a pen sticking out from the moderately neat knot now residing at the back of her head.  
  
"What is that smell?" She asks, eyeing Will. His eyes widen and he shakes his head. Her nose crinkles again, and Will grins just a little. "It smells like my brother's apartment..." She trails for a moment, leaning forward and sniffing at Marshall. "Oh it's you." And immediately her mind begins to race, trying to find a way to dig her out of the hole she's just made. Will watches her waiting for her words as well. "- do you have... little kids?" She questions. Suddenly Marshall's face lights up, as he reaches for his wallet. Will rests his head backward, and she sees as his tongue glides along the backs of his upper row of pristine white teeth. She rolls her lips inward for a second, slightly licking the spot where they meet.  
  
"Yes, I do, um, his name is... Mitchell and he's.. seven weeks, two days and," he checks his watch. "18 hours and 37 minutes old." Elle's face instantly turns into a brilliant smile as she looks at the pictures Marshall shows her. She lets the obligatory female-seeing-a-baby sounds leave her mouth as she sorts through the images. Will slowly backs away from the two, and explores her small, yet oddly spacious office. He lets his eyes peruse the titles in her bookshelf which resides on the wall across from the windows and door, his feet stepping soft, one in front of the other. He turns and watches as she rushes back to her desk, and picks up a picture frame with three separate pictures in it, taking it to Marshall. She glances up at Will who's dangerously close to sitting on the small black couch on the wall facing her desk, perpendicular to the parallels which hold the book shelf and the indoor windows - directly out of an IKEA catalog.  
  
Elle then turns back to Marshall who's awaiting the images she is about to surrender for him to view. "These are my nieces and nephews. My brother has four kids." She states, handing the silver picture frame to Marshall. Will finds his way back over, to where the two stand, crossing the 4-foot span from the couch to the front of the desk. "Gavin is three - almost four. Umm, the twins: Grace and Love are 20 months. And then the baby is Logan, he's only 10 weeks old." Elle finds herself gushing, the role of the proud aunt firmly displayed in her features. And Marshall looks at the portraits of the four children - the twins opting for a photo together. "My brother and his wife's apartment smells exactly like you... dried milk and baby powder." She looks to Will, watching as Marshall hands him the picture frame as well. "I'm sorry, I'm wasting time." She keeps her eyes on Will; a distressed look forming on her face.  
  
"No, Elle, it's alright." Will answers, as he looks up. He hands the picture frame back to her, and she places it in its prior destined spot on her desk. "No, I'm glad you showed me this - otherwise I was going to have to wonder about that." He motions toward yet another silver frame, this one larger and hanging on the wall, next to her diploma's and degrees. Behind the glass is a white piece of paper with red finger paint depicting the portrait of a girl. She turns back to Will, who just raises his eyebrows. She laughs. "Aww, the art of a preschooler. I'd like to think of myself as the Van Gogh of my sand box."  
  
Marshall suddenly moves erratically, pulling a disk from his pocket. Elle takes a step back, surprised. And Will smiles, remembering the first time he ever worked with Marshall. He, of course, had the very same reaction. "I have the tape - It was three actually, umm, one from the surveillance and the other two from both cameras on Jack and Sydney. I made it into one piece of footage, editing all of the images, um together. I'm kind of an aspiring director." Marshall explains. "It's a DVD, do you have a... TV?" He questions. And Elle nods, motioning in the direction of a television monitor mounted in the corner where the wall with the couch meets the wall with the windows. Marshall nods and sits down at Elle's desk. "Is it?" He questions, asking with out words of the DVD player is through the computer. And she nods.  
  
In an instant, Marshall begins typing in key commands with the black jewel case containing the DVD sitting on her desk. Will watches the way Elle kind of stands in the corner by the door, suddenly looking out of place in her own office. He turns to the TV, scratching the back of his head. "Umm, Mr. Tip... Will, can you... turn on the TV?" Marshall suddenly asks. Will glances back at him, smiling, and then reaches upward, taking a step forward. He presses the power button, turning the 22-inch screen on. The computer screen appears on the television and Will smiles, reading it.  
  
"Elle." He states, turning at the waist, looking at her. She hasn't noticed what has been displayed on her television, because she just raises her eyebrows in response. "What's Jasmine Rice? It sounds like an Asian Massage Parlor?" He questions. She stares at him blankly, and suddenly gasps, realizing her list is being projected on the screen. "Good to know the people who are supposed to represent the I in CIA, are doing their jobs to the fullest." Will laughs.  
  
"Are you sure I have the clearance for this?" She asks Will, motioning toward Marshall and implying the video she's about to view. Will nods. "Alright, I'm just checking." Marshall, not having even noticed the exchange, takes the DVD out of its case, ejecting her disk drive. He pulls out a different CD, this one a burned music disc.  
  
He reads the words and then smiles at Elle. "Weezer - I have all of their albums, and I have all of the un-released stuff as well." He states. And she smiles, slowly letting her face turn into a cringe as Will walks over and picks up the CD. She feels like the student in school who has just been scolded for talking, singled out in front of the whole class. Will smiles, putting the CD back on her desk, walking to the couch. He sits down, and scratches the back of his head with his left hand. She walks over into the main area of her office, standing between the desk and the couch. She glances to Will, as they both anticipate the footage to come.  
  
Within a few moments, the screen appears as though Marshall is ready to play the tape. "Now the actual footage of Walker making his demands is only about a minute long - we're just hoping you might give us some insight from what he said." Marshall explains. And both Elle and Will nod simultaneously. Marshall then moves the mouse, and presses the play button, allowing the DVD to start up. Will quickly stands from the couch so her can have a better view of the television. He stands behind Elle, tall enough to look over her shoulder. She watches the footage, gasping slightly as Sydney is held tightly in Simon Walker's grasp.  
  
Simon's words are haunting as he exchanges with Jack. "Good, good." She stares at the footage, noting that Marshall did a good job editing it for a moment, before she listens intently to the man's words. "You will get the CIA to release Rene Persson and Mathias Mohrle. Your daughter will make contact with you concerning their release in... ten hours." And as Jack says the words 'okay', the footage ends. The screen goes black, Elle turns to Will, her lips halfway parted.  
  
"Well..." She trails, looking up at him. "Do you remember how I told... was his name Vaughn?" Will nods. And she smiles. "Remember how I told him they worked for Antonio Plassenegger?" She questions. She doesn't wait for Will to nod in response, pressing her lips together. "That was he." She answers, motioning over her shoulder at the television. Will looks down for a moment, nodding, then back up at her, letting the words sink in.

* * *

The SUV is far too cold, Sydney thinks. They must be up to something - preparing for something. It almost feels frigid as they race through the snow covered German countryside. She finds herself wishing for two things, neither of which she can achieve. First she wishes she could decipher, from the vague lights on blacked out windows, where it is they are, or going. She squints, hoping something will just jump out at her. But she doesn't exactly remember German towns having giant Las Vegas-like lights. So no, that can't happen. The other thing she wishes for is sleep. Maybe if she were to be able to pass out, she could dream of... anything other than this. She could dream about eating bad homemade pizza at Weiss's apartment just last week. She could dream about the way Will pretended it was great, being the polite person he is.  
  
She wishes she could dream about the way Vaughn hugged her when he returned from France. It was beautiful; He just ran to her with no reservations and wrapped his arms around her, letting her know he loved her. Of course that was short lived. Of course. Vaughn told her he was going to separate from Lauren, which he didn't. And that's what gets to her.  
  
Simon's cough pulls Sydney's attention from her thoughts. He's sitting with his eyes closed. He can have the peaceful release that slumber brings but she can't? Life is not fair. Cole turns to Sydney, smiling. She looks at him, hesitant. She wants so badly to not be here. The wishes her mind is begging for right now are very vague actually. It is her duty to be here; her job is calling for this. And so she knows she shouldn't actually be wishing she weren't here. But she does. She glances back at Simon. He resents her. She can't imagine why he wouldn't resent her. She stabbed the man. But what she doesn't understand, is why it stings to know that Simon resents her.  
  
She glances out the window again for a bit, thinking that she's starting to recognize lights on the horizon. It is then that she realizes that they're approaching a city, probably their ultimate destination. Chills rush through her body, and she turns to Cole again. His face is stonewalled. She can't ever seem to read him, in spite of how much she'd like to. He smiles at her, with the psychotic grin he saves for special occasions. She watches the way he reaches for and picks up a small box. It's always a box with this man. And he opens it, a syringe resides inside it. "Sorry, pig tails." He whispers. "This is the end of the line." And he pulls the syringe from the velveteen box, with out any warning sticking it into the flesh of her neck.  
  
Sydney's eyes get heavy, and finally, she gives in to the exhaustion that envelopes her mind. Her head slumps forward, and she forgets everything as her eyes close. 


	8. Chapter Seven, Commence with Strategy

**Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds**

SEVEN – _Commence with Strategy_

Rating: PG/PG-13

Setting: LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe, Air Space over the Atlantic

Characters: Sark, Abs Michaelis (Jessica Alba), Allison Doren, Will Tippin, Elle Williams (maggie Gyllenhaal), Marshall Flinkman, Marcus Dixon, Eric Weiss, Jack Bristow, McKenas Cole, Simon Walker, Sydney Bristow, Aiden Ivanov (Hugh Dancy or James Franco) mentioned Rambaldi, Suit & Glasses, Khasinau

Length: 4,765 Words

Sark's feet fall hard on the marble floor making a constant beat - like a metronome, the pace of his heart - as he walks down the hall toward the one room he knows Abs will be in. And it never fails - when he can't find the woman he always heads to the large room at the end of the hall in the first basement. He walks in, like always, and is immediately met with a sharp dagger hurling in the direction of his head. Sark ducks. So, she's practicing throwing today. "If that had hit me..." Sark trails, slowly standing back up, looking in the direction of the woman who has another dagger ready for throwing.  
  
"If it had hit you, what?" She demands boldly, threatening to throw it at him with every tempting flick of her right wrist. She lets the dagger go, and Sark once more ducks out of the way, hearing the pop as it connects with the wall behind him. A grin spreads across her face as Sark turns to look at her handiwork.  
  
"Not bad Abs," calls Allison from the other end of the room, where she is reading a book and smoking a cigarette. Abs hates the smell but she murmurs a thanks, revels in Sark's caution as he turns his back to her. But Abs is no back-stabber. He pulls the five daggers from the wall, and slowly walks to where she stands. There's a table located at her left, with over a dozen of the sharp weapons just piled on it.  
  
Sark places four of the daggers on her pile, and holds the fifth in his hand. He twirls the dagger about his hand, watching how the light bounces off the blade. He turns to Abs, her brown hair is pulled out of her face and she leans back away from him, slightly. Scowling. She holds a completely separate knife in her hand, waiting to see what Sark is going to do with his. And as Sark throws the dagger, it lands in the center of the black 'X' she's been throwing it, a wordless arch of her eyebrow and she turns back to the collection of knives on the table. Sark frowns. She is mad. She selects a long dagger from the plethora littering the table and holds the dagger to his chest, almost painfully as her eyes glitter like banked fires.  
  
"Get the fuck out," she seethes and she pushes him away, disgust marring her face as turns away, insulting Sark with her indifference to his presence. No caution. Not like him with her.  
  
He reaches out with his hand. Mistake. Abs grabs it as it touches her shoulder and she swivels, taking his arm with her in a painful wrench to his back as she knees him to the ground, his head smacking against cold marble. She does not care as she straddles his prone body, dagger to his nape as he struggles. She pulls on his arm and he does not make a sound of pain. She finds she can admire that. THUD! Allison closes her book, startling them both and Sark seizes the opportunity to lash at her back with his legs and she feints to the side, dragging him with her as he lands on his back and she is still on top, knife to his jugular. Furious as ever.  
  
"I think I'll leave you both to it," Allison says loudly as she walks around them. "Lord knows this is commonplace enough by now." They are not listening as she shuts the door behind her.  
  
"Don't touch me unless I say you can," Abs grates out between her teeth and Sark's arms are pinned to his sides. She is no lightweight for all her slender appearance. The knife has nicked his throat and a spot of blood gleams along the blade. "This could hurt." She warns, watching his eyes. Sark tries not to take any deep breaths or gulp. They've done this before, many times actually. And once he made that mistake, resulting in a laceration to his jugular. He does not want a repeat performance.  
  
"It could." He whispers and he looks into her fiery eyes, she is hiding something beneath all the violence she wears like a second skin and she is trying not to let it show. She is sad. "Abigail..."  
  
"I really don't think you should be calling me that right now," she whispers as the knife jerks.  
  
"Abigail... She was nothing. Just a means to an end." Sark murmurs tightly, the knife cool and lethal at his pulse.  
  
"And that's the whole problem with you." Abs mutters bitterly. She stands up suddenly and tosses the knife away. She walks to stand by the window, and she ignores his incredulous reflection in the glass. The grounds are beautiful, and she wishes she escape the madness that is the man standing three feet behind her by running across those fields. Too late she thinks.  
  
She stills, but allows his arms to encircle her waist without any violent action. She does not relax inside his arms as his breath fans out along the crook of her neck. He kisses her shoulder softly and hums along it with sweet reverence as she tries to ignore him. His mouth at her ear makes unwarranted shivers steal up her spine as he presses her to his body. "You... are my cause for delight," Sark whispers softly into the shell of her ear and Abigail smiles. She can never hate him when he calls her that. She turns around in his arms and drapes her arms around his neck. She is slightly amused.  
  
"Shut up, you make a lousy James Bond," she scolds and she touches her lips to his softly before pulling away, looking into his blue December eyes for something Abs knows she will never find. He pouts slightly at her insult and she laughs lightly. He seizes her mouth possessively and Abs lets him. Tongues tasting and arms entwining as they shift from the window to the couch and she is lying down with him hovering over her. She is smiling, brightly and fiercely because this is where she has him and him alone. Everywhere else is just pieces and she likes to taste him whole.  
  
He lets his hand trail down her bare arm, a pleasant smile on her face, as her eyes drift closed as the sensations take control of her. Her features are soft, changing from before the angry darkness to a pure and gentle light that only Sark ever sees. He loves her like this; at peace and content, purring at his callused touch. His hand continues gliding down her body, fingertips dragging on her right thigh. And he reaches her ankle, suddenly slipping into her pant leg. A smile crosses his face, as he pulls the dangerous knife from its holster. "Abigail," His words cause her to open her eyes. She watches the way he examines the weapon of choice, and she pouts. "Knife play, is not foreplay." He states, resting the knife on the table at the end of the couch.  
  
"Well what do you have in mind then, Julian?" She asks in response. He loves when she calls him that. She always says it coquettishly, her words slow and enticing, like a pleasant Italian aria, rolling off her tongue almost musically. Sark leans in and lets his lips rest on her neck, making slow bruises, that she will wear proudly. He marks her with his lips the way she marks him with her hands and knives.  
  
He starts to unbutton her pants and she tilts her hips upwards to make it easier. Her eyebrow is raised as she waits for his reply. He grins softly, she is always entertaining, almost always playing with him as he does with her. One hand pulls her hair out from its ponytail so that caresses her cheeks. She looks more vulnerable; with him she is vulnerable.  
  
"Just us," he murmurs before kissing her lips and closing his eyes. He does not catch the surprise that filters through her large brown eyes; a sheen of unshed tears and then she is losing herself in him. She hates that he does this - lets her taste the sweetest of pleasures, but ruin it with his words. It will never be just them, because it's always 'she was nothing, just a means to an end.' She hates that he hurts her this way. She furiously wraps her arms and legs around him as he sears her heart and skin with his lips, both wanting and anticipating more.  
  
"Can ya'll stop the sex acts for a sec?" Allison inquires as she peeks her head in the door. Abs turns to grin at the woman all sign of tears gone. Sark sits up on the couch and she follows suit, both wait for Allison to speak. "Cole just called, they're about ten minutes away." Allison says, she looks at the two of them almost disapprovingly. As if to say: there are bedrooms for this express purpose, but Abs is nonchalant until Allison closes the door. She gestures for her pants and Sark admires her long toned legs as she slips them back on. It's always like this - over before it's done or started; just like the way he loves her.  
  
Then she gets up off the couch, crossing the room to where her knives still lay in a pile. Sark watches the way she walks and admires her as she once again, begins throwing her daggers. She turns to look at him, hair loose and wild around her bare shoulders, a dagger in each hand. "Do you want to try and best me?" She challenges impishly and Sark grins as he gets up and walks over to her proffered knives.

* * *

Will takes a deep breath, turning to Elle, who sits at the table in the Rotunda, looking over her notes. Her eyes are reading over the papers, moving from side to side behind her glasses. "So, are you ready?" He questions. She looks up, raising her eyebrows at him. The look in her eyes speaks millions. She's scared.  
  
"Yeah, I think I am." She answers, looking back through the papers. "It's just a little nerve wracking - having to give a presentation for something this important." Will places his hand on her back for a second, tapping it lightly. "I've never had to do this." And she turns to him. He sees himself reflected in her features.  
  
"You'll be fine." And they both look up, Will's hand leaving the contact it has made with her body, as the room begins to fill with people. Dixon is walking in first, holding the door open for Lauren. Marshall follows. The sense in the room takes a sullen and sad turn as they all realize four seats are empty; Jack, Sydney, Weiss and Vaughn. And for a moment, Dixon wonders what is happening to his team, before he's greeted with Will and Elle standing before him. "She has her presentation to give on her insight from the tape ready." Will informs him. Dixon nods, walking to the front of the room.  
  
"This is Elle Willi-" He's cut off, by Marshall who is suddenly standing.  
  
"Sorry, but..." He pulls a few devices from his pocket, two cell phones in the pile. Everyone waits in anticipation is he sets small microphones around the room, in front of each person in attendance. He also gives every person an ear piece, which they put in. "Sorry, see, I came up with this just a little... bit um ago. And you see, this way." He dials numbers on the phone. "Jack and Agent Weiss can be at this meeting."  
  
"Very good, Marshall." Dixon responds. "Can you hear us Jack?" They get a positive response from Jack and then an equally positive one from Weiss. "Okay. This is Elle Williams, she's an analyst under the supervision and instruction of Will Tippin." Dixon introduces. Elle stands before the group looking at everyone, smiling. She walks to the front of the room, swallowing hard.  
  
"Alright, well..." She takes a deep breath, sorting through her papers. "The first thing I noticed was that the man you all know as Simon Walker is known to me, and my research as Antonio Plassenegger. He is a low grade munitions dealer, and also works in drug trafficking." She sets her papers down on the table, looking up at Dixon. "See, he's partners with a man named Ivan Rushkin, and they both work under a man named Bomani." Lauren sits up in her seat at the sound of the name. Elle takes a step away from her firm statue like stance in front of the room. "Now, a few months ago, an assassination attempt was made on Simon Walker. And obviously he didn't die; He continued to work as Plassenegger, most recently involved in the theft of a new virus software which takes out whole electrical grids."  
  
Elle takes a pause, just long enough to hear a question in her ear, from one of the men on the plane. "Is that what happened in Cairo last month?" The man questions. Everyone's mind rushes back to the news story. The whole city of Cairo, and much of its neighboring large cities was with out power for three weeks. The national guard had to go in to stop the looting and rioting going on during the time.  
  
"Yes, Agent Weiss, it is." Dixon answers for her, and Elle watches as the man nods in her direction, prompting her to continue.  
  
"The latest Intel I have received on the man has told me that he wants Persson and Mohrle out because they know where something is. What that is, I can only guess. But he has a kind of vengeance against these men, because they double-crossed him a few years ago. They made a B-line towards a mutiny over the man, overthrowing his power just before they acquired a Rambaldi artifact - a book. They doctored the Intel, just as it was, and sold that artifact as it was real." Elle takes a deep breath. "They kept a rubbing or a copy of the real book, with out doctored Intel, and split the money between the two of them. And so it's my theory that Plassenegger, or, Simon Walker as you know him, is only out for revenge."  
  
"What happened to the book they sold?" She hears a different voice in her ear, and assumes it is the one of Jack Bristow. All eyes land upon Elle as she hesitates to speak.  
  
"Well, just minutes ago, I was informed by Director Dixon that the book is in the CIA's custody as a part of Project Black Hole." She states. And she then begins to speak once more, not waiting for questions and words. "The page that was changed is page 47 - and it has a prophecy on it about a woman bringing forth Rambaldi's work. That prophecy has been changed from its original form. Only Mohrle and Persson know what it really said."

* * *

Her stormy brown eyes fall upon Aiden as he slowly brings the black cell phone to his right ear. He's speaking, murmuring words in Russian; words not meant for her to be a part of, as he makes himself more comfortable in the chair. She stands across the room, watching the way he speaks, blocking out everything else in the world, as though he and the recipient of his words are all that matter. She feels a small sting of jealousy, but knows that he's not trying to make her feel that way.  
  
Slowly Steph reaches under the beautiful bed, pulling out a hard black brief case. This is her life; her whole world. She opens it, the sound of clanking metal sparking her attention and exciting her senses. The light bounces off of shiny surfaces as she mentally surveys everything before her. Slowly her eyes focus in on all of the tools and objects before her. She reaches in, letting her soft fingers graze cold metal, resting on soft blood red velvet. Steph is the interrogator, and these are her weapons.  
  
Her favorite of her plethora of tools is the pliers. They remind her of days and nights spent learning and studying in Taipei. Steph doesn't like to analyze her life. She doesn't like to look to her past, and learn from the mistakes she's made, because as she views it; she's made no mistakes. The pain and struggle in her life came from the actions and decisions of others, not her. And so she doesn't talk about it or even acknowledge it.  
  
Steph does not celebrate her birth anymore, like everyone else does. She celebrates the anniversary of the day she feels she was reborn. Her rebirth came the day she was taken in by Alexander Khasinau. Anything before that, in her mind, does not exist - or at the very least is unimportant. She was only nineteen when he took her in off the street to live with him. And she remembers within the first few days he gave her two options. He knew about her skills as an alchemist, and told her she could live with him and learn under his direction, or she could go back to her old life. She obviously chose the former.  
  
Immediately there after she began studying in the art of physical defense. She was a fast learner, mastering her body and muscles quickly. But he came to find that she was a bit of a short fuse. She didn't have the mental capacity that he required of operatives working beneath him. That's where Taipei came from. On her twentieth birthday - the last birthday she celebrated - her sent her to study under Suit & Glasses. She has so many fond memories from that time in her life; the most being hours of meditation on the beach. She would sit on a rock, the cold wet air entering her lungs just as the sun would begin to rise, staring out at what seemed like the water, but was nothing. He taught her how to center herself; find balance in her life.  
  
He taught her how to interrogate. He taught her how to intimidate a person so much that they'll speak. A lot of it is smoke and mirrors. One must first get into head of whom they're interrogating. She remembers how she got to Sark. He's an interesting man to interrogate, actually, because he lives as though he has no fears. The best way she found, to interrogate him, was to just get inside his head. She was hot and cold with him; one minute giving him things he wanted, and the next causing excruciating pain.  
  
She found herself going the route of many before her; using Chateau Petrus '82 as a source of pleasure for the young man. She would then take the deep red wine away, commenting about the vintage, and then pour it on the floor. She would look into his eyes as the ultra expensive wine splashed from the floor onto his shoes. And however well that worked, it came down to her using money and fire. On the one hand, Sark will always follow wherever his money leads him. But when he wouldn't budge as much as she had liked him to, she decided to see how he would react to singed flesh. He still bares the mark of her intimidation; a scar from the blistered, burned skin on his inner arm. She remembers how she smiled upon hearing that he used the same technique on his own father. And finally he earned her respect. Because unlike everyone else, he had to earn _her_ respect as opposed to the other way around.  
  
Steph loved Taipei. If she was born in Russia, through Khasinau; she was found in Taipei through Suit & Glasses. He taught her the art of balance, through the words of Buddha. He taught her how to act as opposed to react. She learned how to observe, become more aware of her surroundings. In his care she was in perfect balance, always knowing how to conduct herself. She was at peace, never out of touch with anything. But upon her departure, at the age of 21, she began to obsess in her work. She never knew how much her personality garnered behavior like that, but wasn't surprised when she found herself, four years later, interrogating a man into his own death. She destroyed the very beautiful creation she had become.  
  
She realized she was slipping out of control; losing the one thing she had always had in her life. She was ashamed of returning to the man who made her into a beautiful creation, because she had ultimately taken his work and ruined it. It was then that she found herself running into McKenas Cole, through some freelance work she did with SD-6. Instantly she was hooked, an attraction sparked, though it wasn't physical. It was Cole that helped her through the low point, giving her new faith in her talents; turning to her original strength in chemistry. She was then, 'The Devil's Alchemist', creating any and everything he ever needed. He gave her new hope in herself, letting her learn and explore the ways of his arrogance. She learned to believe in herself, though she is not arrogant. She could never be him. She still has to humble herself, every time she enforces the pain she feels on others, because otherwise she'll find herself spiraling again.  
  
And then she met Aiden. She came to him damaged, broken from the inside, by her own design. And he saw threw it; the only one to ever doubt her work, based on her mental capacity. He began to work with her, never once seeing her as a possible bedmate; unlike Cole. And he always had faith; always gentle in his lessons, making sure she believed in herself before she ever took the next step. He taught her grace, beauty, and control. He taught her how to see the minute details again. And it wasn't until she opened up to him, that he ever saw her as anything other than a potentially valuable operative. She let him know about her past; the life before Khasinau and her rebirth into the world they share. He's the only one who knows, the only one who needs to. He respects her boundaries and limits, and knows that beneath that hard exterior is a woman who wants to learn, see the world, and become everything anyone ever told her she could not.  
  
She shuts the heavy brief case, clicking it shut, as she hears him say his goodbye. She turns just in time to see Aiden turn the phone off. He slips his wire-framed glasses on, writing something down on a pad of paper, before slipping it in his pocket. She allows him to keep secrets from her, because she knows that in the long run, they are both more than their work. "'ania," The word - his name for her - is soft, but she sees in his eyes that he's said it. And she smiles, slipping the black leather gloves on. She is the interrogator, these are her weapons, and he is her strength.

* * *

Anticipation doesn't describe the feeling. Sark and Allison stand in the second basement of the beautiful mansion which has been built into the side of the hill; this being the only floor that is almost entirely submerged into the earth, save for a vehicle entrance. They're standing in one of the unfinished rooms, awaiting the word from Walker and Cole. And they both turn as the door opens. "I'm ready", Steph states, before she closes the door once more. She's going to one of the other, smaller rooms, to prepare for the arrival.  
  
Aiden is still upstairs, four floors above them in the control center of the entire property. He is awaiting the phone call, telling him to unlock the gate at the foot of the property - two miles from the actual Villa. And along the way, there are a total of five check points, where, unless a person were to know all the different codes, that person would not get in without the access granted by someone within the home. It's all very technical, with each checkpoint creating a higher threat. The covenant refuses to take any chances when it comes to security. And Abs, who usually likes to be in the very center of the action, is busy taking a phone call. But Sark, who would normally feel a longing at her absence, does not now, for he is awaiting Sydney.  
  
Sark feels his heart begin to race when the intercom sounds. It's Aiden, and apparently they have just passed through the final checkpoint. Quickly he and Allison walk to the garage; guns drawn. They both know each other's moves, know how to trust one another, in spite of their tangled, troubled past. His breath catches in his mouth as the automatic door opens, and the black SUV drives in. He can see Cole driving. The third task has been completed. The first was to acquire Agent Bristow. The second was to remove all tracking devices from the woman, and switch cars, killing that driver. And the third, was to kill the driver of the third car. Sark refuses to leave loose ends.  
  
A smile spreads across his face as the automatic door shuts, and Cole's window rolls down. He holds a bottle of champagne out side of the vehicle, and pops the cork. The force sends it soaring around the room, denting the SUV, as the champagne fizzes out of the bottle. He quickly takes a swig off the bottle, opening the door. "Hey! It's the hair!" He laughs, climbing out of the car. Sark sighs, watching Cole's movements. He keeps his gun drawn, because when working with people who double cross for a living, one can never underestimate the betrayal of those in close proximity. "Care for some..." He reads the title. "Well this shit is so expensive I can't pronounce it - it will definitely suit your taste." He walks over to Sark, holding the bottle out for him. And Sark shakes his head.  
  
"Where's Bristow?" He questions. Cole hands the bottle to Allison. She smiles, accepting it, taking a long drink, and the man smiles.  
  
"Oh she's in the back with Simon - knocked out. We ran into a snag." Cole explains. "Or rather Simon ran into a screw driver." On that note, the back door opens and Simon climbs out, limping. He has a cloth tied tight around his leg, blood soaked down his suit pants. He walks over, mumbling a 'cheers' as he pulls his exhausted and pain filled body into the house. Allison turns to Sark, then follows Simon, knowing that he is in need of immediate medical care.  
  
Sark then puts his gun away, walking to the car. "Help me out." He calls over his shoulder. And Cole does so, lifting Sydney's deceptively petite body, handing her to Sark. The woman weighs more than one would think, solid muscle heavy in his arms. He has his left arm under her knees, his hand feeling her smooth skin, while the right arm is wrapped around her upper body. She wears a black dress and a black tux jacket, and he can feel a very moist spot on her left arm. Cole grabs everything out of the car, carrying all of the left over belongings, including the bloodstained screwdriver. They both walk into the house, skipping over the room that Steph has set up in.  
  
He feels as her eyes land upon him. Abs stands in the hallway, watching Sark carry Sydney through to a separate room. She can feel her blood boiling, then slowing to a smooth simmer. She lets a heavy breath exit her body, turning away and exiting the floor as she sees Cole walking in her direction.  
  
Sark takes a deep breath as he lays Sydney on the plain cot, her unconscious body seeping into the mattress. The room is plain, and yet at the same time plush. He sits in the chair next to the bed, watching her for a moment, before he stands and exits the room. He locks the door behind him, knowing that his plan has finally begun.


	9. Chapter Eight, The Mark of the Beast

**Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds**

EIGHT – _The Mark of the Beast_

Rating: PG/PG-13

Setting: LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe

Characters: Sark, Sydney Bristow, Abs Michaelis (Jessica Alba), McKenas Cole, Elle Williams (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Marcus Dixon, Lauren Reed, Will Tippin, Arvin Sloane, Steph Mariani (Eliza Dushku), Aiden Ivanov (Hugh Dancy or James Franco) mentioned Andrian Lazeray

Length: 4,671 Words

His crystal blue eyes watch the way her body doesn't move. And he feels pleased - because it's only when Sydney Bristow is knocked unconscious that he can truly explore her body. He slips a hand onto her leg, slowly rubbing up her soft skin. But he then stops, staring at the tux jacket. He mentally groans, knowing the piece of clothing is that of her fathers. Sark hates fathers - always has. Let it be his father, her father, or the Father. No, Sark does not like fathers. He reaches up, and slowly begins to remove the jacket from her body, hoping to tear away her patriarchal convictions.  
  
He is immediately drawn to the woman's left arm seeing the deep red dried blood on her beautiful skin. He realizes then that she's been bleeding this entire time, and quickly stands, exiting the room. He slams the door, locking it behind him, and walks down the cement-floored hall. He is angry, and right now anyone who crosses his path will regret it. He finds himself storming into the separate room on one floor above - the room he and Abs were in together - finding her and Cole. He simply stands in the doorway, seething, because right now someone is in trouble.  
  
Abs sits, the way she always does and he always likes her, with legs curled under her body, at a desk. The hair he loves to run his fingers through, is now up again, pulled out of her eyes. She's writing, probably beginning to start her part; creating the plans for the CIA negotiations. She's the best with negotiations. But she's also not his mark right now. His eyes drift to Cole, who has words running out of his mouth and about the room, holding his champagne in one hand. McKenas always knows just the way to sit and relax after a mission. And though Sark normally appreciates it, tonight he is angry.  
  
"Who cut her?" Sark's voice is a grumble. And Abs turns suddenly, looking at the way Sark stalks across the room. She takes a deep breath, turning back to her work - because once she starts her work, she must complete it. She is the kind of woman who takes life one step and one moment at a time, and whichever moment it is, it will have her full-undivided attention. And Cole looks up, standing. As much as the man can seem like he's out of it, and couldn't possibly get a grasp on reality if someone handed it directly to him, McKenas is the most dangerous person Sark has ever met.  
  
And Cole walks in Sark's direction, a glare painted on his interesting features. "What are you talking about?" He asks, folding his arms over his chest. Sark doesn't back down, not now. He's not going to allow his plans to be tainted or ruined.  
  
"Who cut her?" Sark growls.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Cole continues to counter.  
  
"Who cut her?" Sark repeats.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Every single word is slow and more defined than the one before.  
  
"Who cut her?" It seems like this could go on for days, and immediately Abs is up out of her seat. Sure, she gives everything she does an undivided attention, but this is just too much for her to ignore.  
  
"What are you ta-"  
  
"Wait." Abs is suddenly standing close to between the two men, a hand on each one's chest. She bites her lower lip, knowing that this move could have been the last move. "Obviously there's a misunderstanding and something isn't being said." Abs is calm, the only form of control in this exchange between the two men. "What happened, Sark?" She asks. He can tell there's something in her eyes that he doesn't normally see from her. She's hurt, and he's the one who did it.  
  
"Bristow has a four-inch laceration on her left arm. Who did it?" He growls, glaring at Cole. And Abs takes a deep breath, turning to the other man.  
  
"I didn't even know about it." Cole answers. This seems to insight a glaring match between the two men, and Sark groans.  
  
"We can't let this happen. The CIA isn't going to give us what we want if we don't fulfill our end of the bargain, the fact that you knocked her out is already weighing heavily on my mind." Sark's words are always like this, always spoken so clearly and presented as a lethal injection.  
  
Cole wants so badly to hit Sark. "So you wanted her to know where we are, and somehow relay that information to her father when she makes contact?" He yells as Sark is turning and leaving the room. Abs looks at him, upon Sark's departure and expectantly makes a scoffing noise.  
  
"Why do you always have to act like a third grader?" She questions, clearly showing her disdain for the man.  
  
"Why do you always have to defend him?" Cole mumbles walking away.

Sark is quick as he runs down the stairs, in the direction of the room Sydney is in. He punches the code on the keypad next to the door, then opens it, walking it. He is met with confusion when he finds that Sydney is not in the bed. He feels the hard kick in the middle of his back, throwing him to the floor. Sydney is putting up a fight. Immediately Sark is up, fighting back. He dodges every weakened punch Sydney throws at him. And he almost feels bad as he is able to defeat the woman.  
  
She gets the upper hand for another moment, throwing him across the room and reaching for the door. Immediately he slaps his hand on it, slamming the only entrance shut, in front of her face. "What do you want with me?" She screams, as Sark moves her away from the door with a powerful lunge. She kicks at him, and he's just fast enough to get out of his way. And he suddenly throws himself at her, Sydney screaming in pain as he grabs the wound on her left arm. And he knows then, that he has won.  
  
"Stop moving!" Sark growls, as he throws Sydney on the bed - her stomach down, and her hands behind her back. Sydney struggles beneath his grasp, trying to get away from him. He doesn't want to strike her, but fears he might have to. She feels as he starts pulling her up off the bed, holding her wrists in his hands. And he presses his body into her back. "Sydney, you have to calm down." His words are angry, but oddly desperate. She jerks in his grasp, and he holds her tighter. She cringes. "Sydney, calm down."  
  
"Like hell I'll calm down!" She screams, throwing her weight backward into him. She is lucky as he is knocked off balance, them both toppling to the floor. She scurries to the door, but he's once again quicker than she's expecting. She lets out a frustrated yelp, feeling as Sark pulls at her legs, causing the slit in the side of her dress to rip to an even greater and more dangerously scandalous height. She kicks at his shoulders, but he quickly begins to gain more control, groping aggressively as he climbs to the head of her body.  
  
And they both stop, her laying on her back and him on his stomach on her. Their faces are inches from one another as she breathes heavily. "Calm. Down." His words are solid and angry, and she can smell the minty scent that leaves his mouth and always has. "You have a wound on your arm and you _need_ stitches." He holds her down, wondering if he has the power to break the woman's wrists. She finally subsides underneath his weight, giving in to her new, horrifying reality. The last thing she has ever wanted, is to be held captive; kidnapped by the Covenant again.

* * *

The many pairs of feet pounding on the cement floor is unsettling for Elle. She trails behind Director Dixon and Lauren Reed, walking next to Will. He's been making her feel comfortable, and she's thankful for that, deep down. But walking past the empty jail cells is far from anything allowed to be comforting. She wonders if the man she met before, Agent Vaughn, is going to be in one of these. She feels a chill running through her body as they slow, approaching a cell with a man laying on the bed in it. "Get up." Dixon's voice is low and dangerous, taking a tone that neither Will nor Elle have ever heard from him before.  
  
The man, who is probably in his early sixties slowly stands and walks to the bars of the cell, looking at the four people standing before him. Elle finds that subconsciously takes a half step backward, instantly fearing the man. "Yes?" The man questions, as his eyes trail over each person before him. They rest on Elle for a few moments, and she feels as though her skin is being tainted and tarnished, burned by his hell fire stare. She slowly inhales, keeping her eyes aimed at the floor.  
  
"We need to ask you a few questions about the Covenant, and Rambaldi." Lauren states, her voice prim and proper, as tailored as her Christian Dior pinstriped suit. Will watches the man before him, a burning anger still and always ignited within. He's always wanted to see this man dead, and behind bars is good enough - for now.  
  
The man adjusts his green round eyeglasses, followed by folding his hand together in front of his abdomen. "And why should I tell you anything, since I'm destined to be killed anyway?" The man questions. The words, the thought that this man has been sentenced to death, scare Elle. What could he have done? Yes he's scary, but that's just because he's behind the bars, she thinks. What frightens her now, is that if she were to see him in any other setting, she would find herself completely set at ease.  
  
"Because maybe we can work something out." Lauren states. Dixon doesn't say anything in response to her words, or his question, because he knows that he won't be able to contain the same composure. He knows he won't be able to hold back, because the hatred he feels for the man is greater than anyone else - or so he believes. Arvin Sloane, a man who he spent years working for and trusting, is now the mark of his anger.  
  
Sloane paces the bars, looking at each person. "Mr. Tippin, it's good to see you again - good to know that you've gotten your life back in your own control." He states. And Will glares, not even knowing what all the man is referring to. "But I don't know you, Hello, I'm Arvin Sloane." He states, sticking his hand through the bars at the girl. And Will finds himself suddenly sticking his left arm in front of Elle, causing her to take a couple of steps backward.  
  
"You have more important things to be worrying about right now." Will growls, finding that he doesn't want to ever see anyone affected by this man again.  
  
And Sloane is smiling now. "Oh but see that's where you're wrong, Mr. Tippin." His smile is cold and yet at the same time inviting. "I've been sentenced to die... I don't have a single worry in the world, because I no longer have decisions to make." Will takes a deep breath, his blue eyes still continuing to glare at the man, and his arm still continuing to work as a protective shield, in his mind. "It's very liberating, because I no longer have a single responsibility - only one appointment set in my book, and that is with a needle. So, Mr. Tippin, I've told her mine, now may I ask her name?"  
  
"Sloane, you answer the questions, we ask." Dixon lets the words rumble from his chest. "Not the other way around." And he's only going to warn the man once. Dixon is strong, standing tall in his black suit, making sure everyone, especially Sloane, knows he is not going to ever budge.  
  
And Arvin Sloane is far from weak. He knows he has the upper hand, because they're here asking _him_ for information. They're here because they need him, and it's his move. "Why should I? What do I have at stake, you're already planning to take my life." His words are short and to the point.  
  
His eyes land on the blonde woman who has her red lips pressed together firmly, giving him a glare. "Like I said, we'll discuss working something out later." Lauren states. And it's just like the NSC to threaten death, then take it off the table completely. She knows they have nothing. He knows they have nothing. And his life has been granted.  
  
"We want to talk with you about page forty-seven." His eyes land on the blonde man who is speaking. It's like they're all taking turns, Sloane thinks, and the next one to speak should be the young, unknown woman at the end of the line. He wonders what this secret weapon they have is. What could this woman have?  
  
And Sloane sighs, turning to Dixon. "Wasn't it the CIA who kept page forty-seven from me?" His words are meant to waste time, insight an argument even.  
  
Elle steps up, suddenly. "Mr. Sloane, you can't have not known about what happened between Mathias Mohrle and Rene Persson as a follower of Rambaldi, and his work, yourself. What have you heard of that?" And he sees that he predicted correctly as she awaits his response.  
  
"What is your name?"  
  
"Williams." She answers, being discreet. Sloane reaches his hand out to again shake, and Will suddenly buts in. Sloane hates that the young man is trying to make him look impolite.  
  
"Don't touch her." He's nearly growling, threatening and spitting venom at the older man. And Sloane never knew he had it in him, really. He's surprised, oddly, and at the same time almost proud of the boy.  
  
"Alright, Ms. Williams I don't know much about it..." Sloane trails. And Elle suddenly takes a leap of faith, not sure why she's doing it. She knows her options. They've all been weighed out before her by Dixon, even though Will protested. And she takes a deep breath.  
  
"Mr. Sloane, would you feel more comfortable speaking with just me?" She asks, and immediately Will is staring at her, confusion breeding in his eyes at a furious rate. Sloane watches, confused by this tactic. He can't deny the fact that he is interested though.  
  
"Elle." Will scolds. And Sloane smiles, hearing the first name. Elle hates her own actions, hates that she's doing whatever she can to prove her worth to these people. And she hates that she's just offered to spend time alone with the man whom has been sending frightened chills through her body for the past five minutes.  
  
"Actually, I would," Sloane answers. "Elle"

* * *

The light is warm, hot even on Sydney's bare skin. She leans her head backward, as she feels Sark's hands touch her left arm. She sits in the hard metal chair, Sark on a stool perpendicular to her. She closes her eyes, cringing as he uses the cotton ball dressed in alcohol to clean her open wound, and the surface around it. She grips the arms of the chair, flexing her muscles inadvertently. He suddenly places his hand on hers, sending a calm to wash over her body. She looks over at him, just as he wets his lips, thinking vaguely, that if he were to wear wire framed glasses while doing this, he'd resemble her father. And she hates herself forever making the mental comparison.  
  
She looks to the table that sits next to him, an array of medical tools spread before him to use. He takes a deep breath, stopping the pain she feels, and replacing it with the soft sensation of warm water and light terry cloth washing down her skin. He's removing the dried and fresh blood from her limb, cleaning away her pain. And Sydney takes a deep breath, confused by the soft and almost beautiful sensations he's giving her. "Alright, I'm going to use the alcohol again, and it _is_ going to hurt." He states, holding his hand out for her.  
  
She gulps heavily, shaking her head, and refusing his gesture. He presses his lips together, once more picking up a cotton ball with the long tweezers. He dips it in the alcohol, and then grazes it along her deep open wound, causing her to take a shaky breath. Once he's certain he's cleaned her thoroughly, he reaches over and grabs the needle, with the long, thin black nylon thread used for giving stitches. She closes her eyes, waiting as the first puncture is made. He is sure to make sure he gets the same distance away from the opening of the cut, as how deep it is, so as to not tear her skin in healing.  
  
He slips through the cut, coming back out the other side of her flesh, a knot at the first end. And he pulls the flesh taut, tying another knot on the end. He then grabs the scissors, cutting the thread, and tying a new starting knot. She relaxes at the slow, almost methodical pace he takes to what he's doing. He repeats about fourteen times leaving a quarter of an inch between each stitch to her flesh. She feels as he once again flushes more water over now closed wound. He dries the area completely before he grabs a large bandage. She feels as the square patch is stick to her upper arm, finishing his service to her.  
  
She turns to him as he stands, throwing away and discarding the used, and now unneeded materials. He takes a deep breath looking at her. She's a complete mess in the clothing she wore to attend the banquet, only hours prior. The dress is ripped, blood stained, and she's missing an earring, her hair now fallen to her shoulders. She looks anything but dignified or graceful. "You didn't have to do that." Her words are quiet, referencing the wound he has closed. And Sark shrugs, continuing to stare in her direction.  
  
"So," Sark starts speaking, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "What did you do to Simon?" He asks. And Sydney closes her eyes for a moment, using her right hand to reach up and brush the hair out of her face.  
  
"I stabbed him in the leg with a screw driver." She answers. And Sark smiles, laughing slightly at the response she gave him.  
  
He shakes his head for a moment, looking down. "I would have too." Sydney can't help but let a smile come to her lips, only barely, before it is replaced with her stone cold scowl. She watches as the door opens, sending foreign light around the room. A female who she feels she could maybe recognize in a different life time steps in.  
  
"Are you almost finished?" The woman who questions has very Latin features. And Sark turns to her, taking a slow deep breath.  
  
"Pretty much." He responds. Sydney wonders if there's something between the two of them. She wonders what the girl is like, and what drove her to work for Sark. And She wonders why it is that she wants to know if he's finished.  
  
"Well I'm ready now." She answers, letting her eyes fall on Sydney for a moment, before she exits the room. The door shuts, leaving Sydney alone with Sark and the hot light above her.  
  
"Her name is Stephania." Sark states, walking in Sydney's direction. He stops a few feet in front of her. He reaches down to the table surveying and lifting the tray of medical tools. So she hasn't decided to take her chances with stabbing him. "You'll get to know her well." He states, and then turns, carrying his tray with him. He gets to the door, opening it, and turning back to the woman who still sits in the chair. "I'll be back with some different clothes."

* * *

Abs throws the door open, slamming it shut behind her. Aiden looks up from where he sits in the corner, book in hand. No, he's not going to get to finish this any time soon. She stalks across the room - this one very different than the one he has been spending time with Steph in. He opens the book again, pretending to ignore the girl who dramatically throws herself on the bed. He doesn't look up, knowing that she's rolled over on her back, eyes closed. "You're letting him do it to you again, aren't you?" He questions.  
  
Aiden knows her every move, her every action in times like this. She breathes in heavily, while her throat catches slowly. He knows that now she has tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "I don't know why I even fucking care." She responds. "He's always going to be like this - he'll always have a means to an end." Aiden wants to sigh. And he doesn't want to read - because with Abs he never wants to read. But he holds the book up still, silently paying her the attention Sark refuses to.  
  
He shrugs, turning the page of his book, letting the words stare back at him. They blend, because his mind isn't focusing on the story depicted in Latin anymore. He glances up, knowing her eyes won't be back at him, because by now she's sure to have a hand over them. "It's because you're letting yourself love him - that's why you care." He states. His eyes stay away from the book too long, because she rolls her head to the side and lets them meet. Her face depicts that of a hurt little girl.  
  
She looks away, and he throws his eyes back to the book. She sits up, scooting back to the head of the bed. She sits there, her shoes on, and leans against the plush pillows. When she's like this, she doesn't want to destroy anything, or hurt anyone. She doesn't want to deal with knives and anger. Because she is the one who is hurting and all she wants to do is hide from it. "Love! Ha. I just hate that he keeps playing me...and I'm stupid enough to allow him." She trails. Aiden looks up again, this time their eyes make solid contact, and this time it's welcomed.  
  
"You're not stupid." Aiden responds. If there's one thing he thinks everyone should respect and worship within themselves it's their knowledge.  
  
"Aiden, don't kid yourself. Lying is your forte." She has a bitter smile spread across her face. He slowly puts the book down, closing it gingerly and placing it on the table next to him. He is furious with Sark, for bringing such a wonderful woman to such a low state. This is not the destruction of Abs, and he won't allow it to be. Her eyes sparkle with intelligent intensity and her mouth is glib with agile comments. She is better than this; better than Sark, and he tells her this constantly. And how any man can be so fucking blind, or fucking callous is beyond him.  
  
He leans forward in his chair, rests his forearms on his knees and glares into her deep brown eyes, so similar to his own, and yet also not. She is like him, yes, but she is also very different. They both can speak for hours about anything, words and thoughts on philosophy, politics and anything else coming with ease. Her eyes express in myriad shades, his flea and hide behind the wire frame glasses Steph finds so cute, especially since he doesn't need them. And he scowls at the languid form lying on the bed.  
  
"I only lie when I need to," Aiden murmurs warningly because his threshold for self-pity only goes so far. "Abs." He doesn't dare use the name he wants to; the name she reserves for the man who is causing her this pain. And Abs hates to dwell on any of this. She'd rather forget she has this weakness at all, and only shows it to him. Aiden is the only one she allows to see this side, because Aiden is the only one who saw it before she ever allowed it.  
  
She's hurting at the moment. Her heart is heavy and she wants to curl up, blocking out the world. And he knows that this is just a symptom of her larger issues. Sark is, and always has been, a symptom of her desire for affection from the distant father she never truly knew, save for when he was making her feel inadequate. Sark is like her father in so many ways, Aiden has noticed. Smart, cool, handsome and totally callous when it comes to her feelings. He wonders if she went into her relationship with Sark seeking to change the pattern; wonders if she even sees the pattern at all.  
  
Abs is smart, but when it comes to parents and emotions, she has to accept that no one is immune. He knows this about her, about Steph, about Sark, and about himself. A stifled sob, and Aiden is beside her instantly on the bed, an arm around her shoulder as she buries her face into his neck. She gulps at air to halt the embarrassed noises which leave her body so heavily now. "God," She mumbles into him. "Go ahead and hate me already, Aiden, everyone else does." She feels the next sob literally roll through her body, shaming her name and every trait.  
  
He's hit is last nerve, as the tears she despises blink back behind her eyes. This woman does not cry. This woman would rather throw knives, toss Ming vases out of windows and scream, as opposed to cry. She turns to him again, agonizing pain and words, "Wh-" but her question is silence by his mouth on hers. He does not want to hear her suffering anymore. He wants her to forget, and to feel something more than the insignificance Sark breeds as much as he breathes air. Her sigh into his mouth is full of contentment, no longer shame.  
  
He pulls away from her, eyes searching souls and faces for answers. He hasn't confused her, rather rejuvenated her. He knows she'll always harbor the feelings she does for Sark, and he intends to set things straight with the man. But now, all he cares about is making sure she's okay. Because he hates to see her cry. She didn't even cry when she sat up with him one night, retelling the events of the death of the older brother she lost when she was fourteen - the older brother who was quite possibly the father figure she searches for in Sark. And Aiden leans in, kissing her forehead.  
  
He hates anyone who makes her cry. He reaches forward, sighing to himself, as he brushes some of the hair out of her face. Her eyes are red. He pulls her with him as he leans back into the bed, scooting his pelvis forward. She adjusts herself, feeling the way one of his hands rubs her bare arm. She lets her body curl into his, because she needs this. And her eyes close, heavy from emotions and exhaustion. He combs his hand through her hair, and she murmurs a soft 'thank you' into his chest.  
  
And as Aiden rubs her back, he feels vengeful, vowing to make Sark aware of the destruction he's creating.


	10. Chapter Nine, Disclosed Coalitions

**Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds**

NINE – _Disclosed Coalitions_

Rating: PG/PG-13

Setting: LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe

Characters: Dr. Barnett, Michael Vaughn, Aiden Ivanov (Hugh Dancy or James Franco), Abs Michaelis (Jessica Alba), Marcus Dixon, Will Tippin, Elle Williams (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Arvin Sloane, Steph Mariani (Eliza Dushku), Sark mentioned Jack Bristow, Sydney Bristow, McKenas Cole

Length: 5,350 Words

The clicking and tapping of the eraser end of a pencil on a pad of paper is consistent, driving, grating even. And it's really enough to drive a person insane, Vaughn thinks. He wonders why it is that Dr. Barnett, a woman who has been trained in how to deal with _crazy_ people, would even ever consider doing that. Especially with him. He has just been thrown in jail for losing his temper. Shouldn't she be scared? Possibly a little hesitant in her annoying habits? Or maybe she should be a little concerned with what he's doing, or how he'll react. Vaughn sighs, making eye contact with the blue/gray orbs behind light glasses staring back at him.  
  
"Michael, I feel you need to open up more than you have." She's now holding the tip of the pencil to the yellow pad of paper, wanting to write something down. "Yes, we've talked about the reason you're in here, and you have a firm grasp on it. I'm proud of you. But don't you feel there are other issues looming?" She's pressing the subject, digging even. And Vaughn once again wants to question her credibility as a psychologist. Aren't they not supposed to dig into these kind of subjects? Aren't they supposed to wait until the 'patient' feels comfortable enough to speak about them? He takes a deep breath, letting it out heavily.  
  
Vaughn runs his hand through his hair, and then stares at the blonde woman sitting before him. "What is it that _you_ think I need to open up about?" He questions. He knows the inquiry he's giving with her appears more pointed than it really is. She looks up at him and it seems as though, for the moment, she's glaring. He wonders if she has something to hide.  
  
"Mr. Vaughn, deflection is not going to work with me" Her words are also angry. He wonders why she's going on the defensive, but also wonders why he's going on the defensive as well. Vaughn doesn't like to have his brain picked a part, but he knows it's probably a good thing for him. Dr. Barnett sits up straighter, slightly moving her right leg, which is crossed over the left, drawing his attention to her shin. He thinks, that if she were possibly a woman with a very different personality and if he were in a different situation, he might find her attractive.  
  
And Vaughn sits up just as much, taking a deep breath. They're still sitting in his jail cell - he's happy to be housed in a cell that has no one around, creating a moderate air of privacy. "What is it that you're digging for, doctor?" He didn't intend those words to sound as angry and defensive as they do. And the look on Dr. Barnett's face is anything but pleased.  
  
She gives him a pointed look for a moment, pressing her lips together. "This is not about digging by one person or the other." She keeps eye contact with Vaughn the entire time that she speaks. "This is about you looking inward and telling me what it is that you find." She keeps that same kind of arrogant and disappointed expression in her voice that she always has when she speaks with Agent Vaughn.  
  
But the fact is that Vaughn isn't having any of it; isn't buying the words that are coming from her lips. "Oh so it's about me digging for something within me. Doing your dirty work." He's snide, angry even. He doesn't want to be sitting here with Barnett, while she tries to comb through his brain and see what it is that she finds. He doesn't care to know what she finds. "I don't know why I'm here. I don't need a shrink telling me if I'm okay. I'm okay! I thought emotions were healthy." He'd much rather be helping get Sydney back. "Or is it that everyone here lives by Jack Bristow's 'Stone faced & Stoic: A handbook to self awareness' attitude?"  
  
"Let's talk about Jack Bristow." Vaughn watches Barnett's face as she awaits his response to her suggestion. And he desperately regrets the words prior; bringing up Jack at all. He curses himself mentally for being stupid enough to bring the man into the conversation.  
  
"No, let's _not_ talk about him." His words are quick, and eye contact solid. He doesn't want Dr. Barnett to get any ideas that he's trying to avoid the subject. Sure, he's trying to avoid it, but only because he doesn't care to spend any more time than he has to discussing the man in question.  
  
And Dr. Barnett leans her head forward, looking at him from behind and slightly above her glasses. "Michael, you brought him up." She finishes by pressing her painted red lips together.  
  
Vaughn knows he can no longer hold back. She's pushing him, poking and prodding to see what it is that she can find. "You really want to know? Fine." And he takes a deep breath, preparing for the uncontrolled words about to leave his mouth. "I think he's a homicidal, loose cannon, uptight, reactionary, short fused, quick acting, old pompous jack ass with the personality of a cold fish and the common sense of an ice cube!" He watches the way Dr. Barnett thinks, mentally reacting to his words. "That's only the Cliff Notes version."  
  
"Jack Bristow is an intelligent man." And Vaughn hates that this woman is doing what she is. He hates that she wants to truly get to him in the fashion she's trying. He'd much rather experience anything else; No torture on the face of the planet could be worse than the mental battle he is waging at the present. Vaughn would just generally rather be doing anything else, mostly working on Sydney's case. He doesn't understand why it is that he's being forced to stay away, and waste all these valuable hours.  
  
Vaughn lets a heavy breath leave his body, giving Dr. Barnett and irritated look. "Yeah well if he's so intelligent, then why is it that his personally biased last minute decision has Sydney kidnapped by the Covenant... again?" He watches as Dr. Barnett opens her mouth to speak. But he's talking before she has the opportunity to get her words out. "And I might add, _Doctor_ the fact that he may have intellect, as you say, does not mean he has any amount of good judgment or common sense. His world is games and plans and negotiations. He's like a robot and does not have a single stitch of human feeling." Vaughn finds himself glaring, getting worked up.  
  
And Barnett depicts that same arrogant and disappointed essence. It's almost as though she's let down in the words that Vaughn has decided to use to depict his feelings. Like she expects something different from him. "But Jack was not responsible for Sydney's last kidnapping." She says it as though it's a matter of fact, while Vaughn rationalizes a way to turn this around say Jack is. He wonders, at that moment, if the fact that he finds ways to blame Jack Bristow for everything, is what she's looking for him to say.  
  
"Are you sure about that Judith?" Vaughn let's the words leave his mouth before he has a chance to stop them. Instantly he feels shame for disrespecting the woman, but he also doesn't want to take them back.  
  
Dr. Barnett watches Vaughn for a moment, deciding that she doesn't want to get into it with this man over his complete disregard for her as a professional. Instead she decides to continue with her line of questions, hoping that he'll get a clue and just start to cooperate. "Are you using Jack's mistake _here_ to justify your own actions after Sydney's last kidnapping?" She questions, waiting to see how Vaughn responds. The entire time she's been scribbling down words, taking notes of his reactions.  
  
"I don't care to _defend_ and speak of my actions and decisions with you." Vaughn's words are strong, slow, and bold. He is getting to the point where he has had enough. She is dancing on the line, very nearly crossing it. And he glares at the woman before him, this time not discretely. No, this time he glares with full force and fury. "I love my wife." As he says the words, his mind pictures Lauren, suddenly he knows exactly where he wants to be.  
  
They both know the very words to come, as Dr. Barnett takes her deep breath. And Vaughn wishes she wouldn't do this. "But do you still love Sydney?" She questions. Vaughn prepares the answer he always gives, but stops when she's speaking again. "I mean, to be honest she-"  
  
"What did Sydney say?" He hates that he let himself respond like that.  
  
Dr. Barnett has a satisfied smirk painted across her face. She always does. "I think that answers my question." And she's snootier than ever. Vaughn immediately decides to mirror her tone.  
  
"Yes, I still have feelings for her. You try being in my situation." He looks down, shaking his head for a moment. Dr. Barnett just watching him, waiting. He looks up, expectant. "What, no lecture on the dangers of mixing business with pleasure? C'mon, I know you have one in you." He's taunting her now. And he's not going to stop.  
  
She takes a quick deep breath, standing. "Actually no. I think you know my feelings on the matter. I'm going to leave you, Agent Vaughn." She reaches down, grabbing her suit jacket and empty coffee cup. She then turns back to Vaughn, who is now standing as well.  
  
He looks at her with apologetic eyes. "Well what's the diagnosis, am I crazy?"  
  
And obviously Dr. Barnett does not make light of the words. She does not find this to be a joke. "Michael, I think you're very aware of your mental state; you lost your temper. But I would like to see you again. I think you just need someone to talk to, before you let your anger take over. You're a smart man." She then turns, walking to exit the jail cell, signaling to the guard at the end of the hall.  
  
"Thanks" Vaughn replies, sitting back down.

* * *

Aiden's right hand moves slow along her bare skin - her arm - the pads of his fingertips barely making contact with the woman. The very feel of her is like light milk chocolate silk under his steady palms, and their breathing is slow. The definable scent of her cinnamon mouth still lingers on his lips, making him want more. It is not unpleasant and he wonders if Sark registers the subtle taste of Abs after a kiss, or if he knows the moment she is about to sigh in contentment from the way the air hitches in her chest. Aiden wonders if he knows her brown eyes go hazel with any emotion of fear, anger, pain and happiness.  
  
She has such expressive eyes, and he loves them. He thinks she only shows them to him, and he loves that. She trusts him to never hurt her the way Sark always hurts her. He won't. Long brown hair fanning out from her angular face, and it hides the sharp line of her jaw. A part of him wants to know why she hides, knowing how beautiful she truly is. There's a faint acrid scent of burnt embers as he breathes in. He wonders if it's from her hair that has been pressed far too many times, or if it's the burning cigarette he rolled sitting in the ashtray on the windowsill. No, it's her hair, his cigarettes always carry the undertone of mint.  
  
She sighs when she sees him look to the cracked window. "I hate that you smoke," Her words are soft and low, as though she's half asleep, but still declare her reasoning. "Life is too short to make it shorter."  
  
"Then make me stop," he retorts smoothly. But she does not see him bit his lip at the candid remark. He partially hates himself for thinking about her the way he does, but he also loves it. She needs him so, and a part, yes Aiden is brave enough to admit that a part of him needs her too. Her intellect, her brash charm and the vulnerability quivering from a full bottom lip in a bed they'll never sleep in. He has Steph. He loves Steph. He wishes Abs could find a better man. And he slowly is letting his fingers mover higher up her bare arm, to her collarbone, wondering if she's even noticed. He wishes he could call her Abigail.  
  
She has noticed. A gentle smile on soft lips, "would you really stop for me?" _yes_ a bitter smile. He sighs, with his own lips pressed together now.  
  
"No, Steph likes my cigarettes." He hates that he's answered her this way, bringing the other woman into their conversation.  
  
She shakes her head sadly and curls back into his shoulder. "Too bad," and her hand is making lazy circles on his chest, his heart beating erratically now, and they both know it. He closes his eyes, knowing that she is soothing him now, instead of the reverse. How strange that she upsets him as much as delights him, and she looks up at him. Hazel eyes. A moment before an action and her hand on his chest has stopped circling. Harsh breathing, and anticipation.  
  
"Abs..." It's more like a breath or a groan than an actual word, a primitive little statement. He stares at her, and the way she's frozen in time for the moment, before she closes her eyes.  
  
"Shhh, you know to call me Abby," And then her lips meet on his, the way he's urged her, achingly sweet with the touch of cinnamon searing his vaguely mint and tar tongue. How right it feels as he falls back and she follows, cradling him close as she hovers over him and her hair falls around their faces, with eyes closed. All sensation and she is shaking, trembling, quaking over him as his hands glide up her bare arms. His fingers are at the straps, and she flees.  
  
She's off the bed now, one arm out to keep him at bay, one hand pressed to her chest, willing her breath to normalcy. And Aiden is craving. He looks at her, a torrent of emotions falling across her face. Who else but he sees her like this? No one. He wishes she would see that answer the same way he does. One lock of hair lays across her forehead, taunting him, and he longs to play with it. She shakes her head firmly and he pouts at the absence of the hair he wants. "We cannot do this."  
  
"I know." His voice is a hushed silence.  
  
She exhales, heavily, becoming frustrated with him. "Then why Aiden? Why start at all if we can't end this like we want to?"  
  
Aiden doesn't want to answer this. "Because you make me feel needed."  
  
"And Steph doesn't?"  
  
"Not like you do." She smiles weakly at his response. And words suddenly echo in her head, a song she heard once. _You look like a perfect fit, for a girl in need of a tourniquet. But can you save me? Why don't you save me?_ And she knows Aiden won't save her, or can't save her.  
  
"But you don't need me Aiden." _Yes, I do_ he wants to cry. But pride, self-control, so many things his mother taught him so well constrain him. Do not look into the sun, Aiden, or you will be blinded. And Abs is the sun, the very thing he yearns for, and yet will ultimately destroy him if he chooses it to. She destroys so many things with out meaning to. She stands a few feet away, her arm still stretched out in front of her, to fend him off. But he has yet to move. She looks into his deep brown eyes, dark curls dressing the frame of his face, and she sees liquid obsidian. How can she stop this?  
  
His hand is rising, so very slowly, beckoning her back to his side, because he loves the way she curls in to him when they lay together, like she can't possibly be whole or at ease otherwise. Steph sleeps on her side of the bed, only. And she hesitates, she laughs, the very warm and welcomed laugh only he hears when she's comfortable, alone in a room with him and all her secrets. "Could this get any more complicated, Aiden?" He loves that she asks him questions.  
  
Aiden thinks about the book he is reading, words and stories pounding in his brain, like they have all his life. And his imagination awakens, like when he was a child. "We could start a war?" And she grins, eyes flashing bright and wet at him. His hand is still extended in her direction. "Abs..."  
  
"Oh shut up, and call me Abby," she mutters, as she stalks back to the bed, and Aiden is the one laughing, waiting to accept her in his arms. His chest is burning from the inside out with the touch of her hand in his. And the sun destroys him after all. He accepts it gladly, his eyes rolling closed, as she curls back into him, the spot that only she can fit, on the bed they'll never sleep in.  
  
_And as Aiden rubs her back, he feels vengeful, vowing to make Sark aware of the destruction he's creating._

* * *

Dixon looks up as his eyes fall upon the young man walking in his direction, the sleeves on his shirt rolled up, the way a reporter would; the way he used to always feel comfortable doing. And the CIA director hates it that he's groaning in anticipation of the conversation to come. So he gathers his papers up, tapping them on the desk once or maybe twice. "Will," He acknowledges as the man has approached him now.  
  
Will pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "Director Dixon, I need to have a word, or two with you - it's about Elle." He states.  
  
"Who?" Dixon questions, having an idea of the person who owns the name, vaguely remembering its use earlier in the day. But so much has gone on, so much has happened, been said, and developed. Dixon sees the weaknesses in himself as he can't get the grasp he wants on it all.  
  
"She's the analyst we're about to send in to see Arvin Sloane, Elle Williams."  
  
"Oh, right. Of course. What seems to be the issue here, Mr. Tippin?" Dixon asks. And he makes for the door, watching the expression on the young man's face. "Walk with me - I'm on my way to the interrogation room she'll be using now."  
  
Will follows the man through the door, words waiting to leave his mouth. He doesn't hesitate, like he thinks he probably should, but instead starts in. "See that's the problem, Sir. I don't think that she is qualified to handle an operation of this magnitude." Dixon sighs inaudibly. Will's exuberance for the job, at times is a little exhausting for him, it makes him admit his age. And he smiles, kindly at the younger man. "We can't allow her do this. Arvin Sloane is a horrible man and we can't let this girl be a part of his plan."  
  
"This girl," Dixon states sternly, "is a qualified member of this office. She will be put on the assignments I place her. I am sure she is quite capable of doing her job to satisfaction Mr. Tippin," Their feet are heavy on the tile floors, heavy strides in pace as they walk through the halls.  
  
And Will is quick to speak again, urging the man to make a different decision. "But we can't leave her in there, alone with Sloane."  
  
"She won't be alone, Mr. Tippin. May I remind you that questioning my authority when it comes to Sloane is _not_ a good idea?" Dixon doesn't question so much as he warns the man at his side. He can tell by Will's silence that his threat has worked, possibly too well. "Yes, he's decided to use her in some kind of game, and we all know Sloane thinks in games. I will inform Ms. Williams of it, and make sure she's aware of what this man is going to try to do."  
  
"Director Dixon, may I speak candidly with you for a moment?"  
  
"Yes" And the two men stop, just outside the door that will lead them to the young woman in question.  
  
"I'm concerned for her, and the kind of affect this may have." Will isn't sure why he's letting these things be known. But some sort of conviction inside of him is pulling them forward. "She's only an analyst, and I know how coming in contact with these people can change a person."  
  
Dixon takes a deep breath in through his nose, creating a loud noise, as he keeps his lips together. And when he pulls them apart to speak, there's a slight smacking noise. "You' were only an analyst once," He watches the way Will listens to him, intently. "Untrained," And he knows he has the young man's attention, in spite of the fact that Will is dying to speak. "Given a job because... well didn't someone give you a chance?" He questions, not waiting at all for the other man to answer. "Williams is being given a chance to prove herself. Don't treat her like the child she isn't."  
  
And Will takes a deep breath. "Yes... Sir, I know this, but... I spent a long time living a life that wasn't mine..." He stops as Dixon begins to speak once more.  
  
"That was after you were tortured in Taipei, framed for espionage and left for dead in a South LA heroin house" He lets his words sink in, heavy on the young man's mind, wondering slightly if they're bringing back memories. And he smiles. "You got through all of that okay"  
  
"And yet I still had to spend years of my life as a man named Jonas in Wisconsin, and probably still would be that man, had Sydney Bristow not walked back into my life." Will doesn't want this to go the way it is. He fears for her, the threat of his life looming over his head.  
  
"No situation is the same as any other" Dixon's voice is low, beginning to take a changing tone. "If we based all our case assignments on your past experiences Tippin we would not get anything done. Now I understand you have concerns about Williams. And I understand that this comes from being her superior and wanting to protect your newest asset. However," and Dixon leans in ever so closely to Will's face. "I am your superior, so the second she joined this task force I became hers. Do not make me say this again"  
  
"She hasn't joined this task force." And Will wishes he had bit his tongue and stopped himself.  
  
"Not officially, no. But it is just a matter of telling her." He stops his words for a moment, to change his tone and put the young man in his place. "And, Tippin, I mean it. Don't push me. I've already sent one Agent to jail today." And Will closes his mouth mutely as Director Dixon opens the door entering the room that Elle is waiting in. Her brow is furrowed in concentration while she reads through her notes.  
  
She stands as they walk in, an eager smile on her face. "Hello Director Dixon, Mr. Tippin," And she is quick to walk over to them, a hand out stretched for each to shake, not sure if formalities always carry over upon each meeting. She just left these men a matter of forty-five minutes ago. "Are we..." She trails, making eye contact with Will, then looking back to Dixon. "Ready?"  
  
"Ms. Williams, first off, welcome to the task force, your clearance will be explained later. Tippin and I are going to be behind the two-way mirror. If you feel uncomfortable, let us know. Arvin Sloane is known for his tricks...his deceit. He delights in playing games and views his life as a living game of chess. Don't be a pawn" He finishes his words, leaving Elle a moment to let them mold in her head.  
  
And Elle gives a nod in Dixon's direction. "Yes sir," She's suddenly job oriented, no longer concerned with her own well-being and the fears she has of the moment to come stewing in the pit of her stomach. She feels this rush of anticipation and adrenaline running through her, just like the first time she met with one of her many contacts.  
  
"Remember." Will is speaking, and she turns to him. "If you feel uncomfortable at all, we'll be in here." She nods, letting the man know she understands. And Will departs, walking through a separate door, obviously to the secluded room where he can watch the meeting to come. Elle turns to Dixon, suddenly, when she hears the knock on the door. And her whole stomach begins to flop as the man from the jail cell earlier is brought in. He wears his same blue prison clothes, now with wrists and ankles cuffed and chained, making him walk at a slow pace. But the part that sends chills through her body, and actually makes her consider cowering at the task at hand is the thick black hood over his head.  
  
She watches as the two guards sit him down in a chair, removing the hood to reveal his face. And they then remove the cuffs. Elle takes a deep breath. "May I have a glass of water?" He asks, in Dixon's direction. And then he turns to the girl who stands over six inches shorter than the man he just questioned. "We meet again, Elle."

* * *

She's changed her clothes now, lost the short dress and wears the same tight black pin striped, well tailored suit that she always wears when she's at work. Her long curly brown hair, that has the subtle, yet strong blonde highlights, is now pulled back in a tight bun that rests low at the back of her neck; reminding her of days as a young teen in Milan, dancing ballet. She shakes the thought, because that time doesn't exist anymore. And she jerks her body forward as she feels the strong hand clam on her inner arm. Sark. "A moment, if you will," he murmurs softly. And his politeness jars her nerves right now.  
  
She doesn't like casualties and conversations before she is about to go to work. She's mentally preparing herself to break someone's defense down, to be cruel. And she doesn't like having someone try to speak with her before hand. But Sark knows all this and is still persisting. A tic in her jaw lets him know that she is pissed, annoyed by his interruption. "Yes, Sark?" She asks, her voice describing the glare he doesn't see behind her mirrored sunglasses. He loves the way she prepares for this. And it's best to walk on eggshells with her, he knows what she can do.  
  
His finger tracing the curve of her neck, _eggshells Sark, eggshells._ And he can't help but think how he loves the feel and shape of her body. "Just..." She breathes out deeply in response to him, and the vaguely bitter scent of tar envelops him. "Just... be careful with her."  
  
"Are you fucking with me?" She turns to him, asking.  
  
"No, I'm not... Aiden is." His words are quick and the sting of her hand across his face is sudden and hard. He was too slow to deflect that, the most deserved blow. She slips her sunglasses off.  
  
"I thought you wanted Intel, Sark," Stephania hisses. "And don't you _dare_ talk about Aiden that way again." Her voice is low, angry, and beyond all, out of control. He's completely got her off her balance now, and she knows she won't be able to do the job she hopes to anyway. He's getting his wish, if this is what he wants. That fucking ass.  
  
His blue eyes glint, knowingly. He knows that she knows he knows and if that circular line of thinking was not dizzying enough, the fact that his proximity is disturbing her for more reasons than they should aggravates her even more. He inclines his head regally. "I say this to you, telling you to be careful with her, because she is our negotiation piece. She is our pawn."  
  
"Bull shit." Sark startles at her forthrightness. No one has ever called his bluff, not like this. And he doesn't hesitate, placing his lips to hers, and letting his body forcefully pin her against the wall. She feels the way his hands are hungry on her, wondering what it is that he's feeling for her. The way his pelvis is now grinding in to her is sending chills and desires through her mind.  
  
And Sark is remembering. Remembering the first time he met her; his own interrogation. He's remembering how she got him to talk, pouring wine on the floor, baiting him with money, and burning his inner arm. He's always held this respect and at the same time, burning desire for her. The same temperature as searing flesh, and blistered scars on smooth skin. He remembers though, that it wasn't her actions that made him speak - it was the desire she made him feel. But this is what she does not know, and he will never speak. So he tells her in kisses, painfully nibbling kisses across her lips and jaw. And hard, heavy, forceful open mouthed kisses where his teeth hit hers.  
  
And a laugh is puffed into her ear as he's left her mouth and nibbles the lobe - no _bites_ it, tugging and disregarding diamond earrings. No half measures between them, pain is their shared history. Jarring the nerves, the synapses to receptors flooded with twin sensations of pain and pleasure, their own drug cocktail of choice, spreading like chemical electricity throughout their limps. And they are soldered together, the wall no longer real on their plane of existence.  
  
And as fast and hurried as the kiss began, the connections and sensations of pain with pleasure, he is off of her, across the hall, feet away between them now. She reacts first. "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?" She yells, her face flushed scarlet, and she wipes her hand across her lips, to tear the taste of him away from the memory of a mouth so hot on hers. Her chest is heaving with anger and passion. Her breath is heavy. Quickly. But slower now, only just as heavy and pained, and a quelling breath stabilizes her.  
  
"If you think..." He moves across the room and kisses her again, only this time soft, like Aiden would, but different. Because their electricity is still sparking, he knows it's not by chance. "If I said I didn't know, would you believe me, Stephania?" He questions, his voice in tune with bright blue eyes boring into hers. And she curses herself for removing the sunglasses.  
  
Her chin lifts defiantly, the way he already knows it to. "No!" And she is growling at him. "If you think this helped you, you are dead wrong. If I slip up in there, she dies, you dreadful little moron!"  
  
He's angry now, not passionate. "And if she dies, your life is forfeit."  
  
"Then you shouldn't have kissed me," She hisses deathly quiet, her face pale now, with rage and indignation. Sark lifts his hand to her cool cheek.  
  
"So file a sexual harassment complaint. I'm sure Cole will care." And with that, Sark walks off, leaving her in the hall fuming and attempting to straighten her clothes, preparing to enter the room and do her job.


	11. Chapter Ten, Clash of Intentions

**Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds**

TEN – _Clash of Intentions_

Rating: PG-13 (Harsh Language)

Setting: LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe

Characters: Sark, Aiden Ivanov (Hugh Dancy or James Franco), Will Tippin, Elle Williams (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Marcus Dixon, Arvin Sloane, Allison Doren, Simon Walker, Steph Mariani (Eliza Dushku), Sydney Bristow mentioned Renee Persson (undecided), Matthias Mohrle (undecided), Abs Michaelis (Jessica Alba)

Length: 3,773 Words

He sits behind the dark cherry writing desk, a laptop open before him. And he's not sure what he's working on anymore, with the pending drama weighing heavy on his mind. And his attention is drawn immediately from his work, to the man who is walking in, with out asking to be invited, slamming the door shut behind him. He wonders if this is how everyone enters rooms in this house. And Aiden crosses the room, standing in front of the chair before the desk, an angry look making his features all the more bold and fiery. And Sark shuts his laptop, an irritated sigh leaving his mouth. "Sure, come in." He states, even though the man has already entered. And he can see that Aiden does not want to be casual with him, and does not appreciate his personal joke.  
  
"Don't patronize me, you bastard." His words are angry, hard and low. And Sark thinks for a bit, wondering what it is that is going through the man's head. And so he scratches his head, a cocky grin spreading across his face as he sits up straighter to intimidate the man. He doesn't have time for this shit - this petty garbage.  
  
And Sark takes in a slow breath, eyeing the man who dares to cross his path. "Bastard is an interesting choice of word coming from you." He knows the jab is low, and probably cheap, but he's taking it anyway. "I mean, I know I knew who my father was, but... you don't." And he's kind of grinning, hoping that this cheap shot will anger the man enough to leave his office and let him get back to work. And Sark never again wants to take a mission like this. He'd much rather be managed, than manage people who are as nuts as these. Because his only superior in this house is McKenas Cole, and that says a lot about the kind of work he's doing. "And so, don't you believe you're the bastard, Mr. Ivanov?"  
  
Aiden is not having it, even though he has decided to start it. "I don't believe you know enough, if anything, about my past to call me that, you fucking ass-hole." And Sark is bored! He truly doesn't want to be having this conversation or be around this man. He has work to do. He has a damn negotiation to figure out, and he has to get everything together by the time Steph is done with Sydney's interrogation. He has work to do. If this is going to work, he can't have Aiden storming in his office, every time he feels the man has done something wrong, otherwise that is all he'll do.  
  
And now Sark is taking offence to the words. Because he was the one minding his own business, not inviting this kind of confrontation at all. "Ass-hole? Really?" He's trying to intimidate the man, trying to get into his head and make him remember the fear he feels for Sark. "You're going to call me an ass-hle? And what might I have done to deserve that?" He waits now, truly curious as to why Aiden has entered the office with such anger.  
  
"Idi na khuy" Oh so now Aiden has decided to speak both their native tongue; Russian. But Sark knows that merely telling him to 'Go to hell' in this alternate language is going to do nothing to get him to argue. Not now. Not when he has more important things on mind.  
  
Sark sighs, out of frustration he's sure. "Must we speak Russian? It's such a dreadful language." He hates speaking Russian. He hates letting the words of his native tongue leave his mouth. He hates acknowledging his heritage, acknowledging the life he used to lead. And he hates that Aiden embraces his own Russian heritage so much.  
  
"You are a traitor to your homeland." Aiden states. Is that what this is about? Sark rolls his eyes now.  
  
And he takes a deep breath, letting the pen in his hand twirl through his agile fingers. "I don't believe I have ever held a loyalty to that homeland, so don't call me a traitor." Sark scowls, and the words a simple rumbling threat leaving his chest. "You've come here to put me in my place, where loyalties lie? I would have pinned some other kind of conviction from you." And he's exhaling heavily.  
  
"Pizda." Aiden scoffs the words. Back to Russian. And he knows the word, the name he has used. It's one of those terms that, in spite of ones affiliation in the espionage word, Sark knows he'll never say in the presence of a woman. No, this is one of those words. So he lets the anger paint his face.  
  
But Sark isn't one to argue or fight. Sark isn't petty like these people. So he just smiles, knowing the one thing he can say to get to Aiden. "No need to bring your mother into this." And he doesn't at all regret saying it.  
  
And Aiden has now vaulted across the space, grabbing Sark by his shirt, pulling him from his comfortable position in the chair, to stand. And Sark watches the man's eyes. "Bold are we?" He's saying the words clearly because he wants to make sure Aiden is aware of his unaffected state.  
  
"Suka ty zlo'ebuchaya" Aiden's words are low and angry, calling him all kinds of bitches under the sun. And this time, Sark does not roll his eyes, because he doesn't like to when the man's hands are so close to his neck - he knows he could asphyxiate him in a single moment.  
  
And Aiden has never been one to use such coarse language, the loss of control to leave his lips like this. Sark is smiling, almost knowingly. So he sighs, heavily, looking at the man before him. "Aiden, are we really going to go in circles like this, or are you ever going to get to the point?" He's bored with this.  
  
"Here's my point," Aiden growls, "You're fucking things up, and I know of a few Covenant officials who are going to be less than pleased with your immature actions." His words are meant to piss him off, or maybe get him to change. But he knows it's not working.  
  
"I do believe I'm not the one holding someone else in this kind of childish exchange." Sark responds, cool and calm - because he is. "So please do, explain your reasoning behind these sudden words of Russian Revelation."  
  
"Because you are literally screwing every single one of the operatives set on this assignment, and you've managed to cut their productivity." Aiden hates to speak in such monetary terms, but knows that they are all that appeal to Sark. And so he's sighing, waiting to see how the man responds. Aiden does not want to admit that Abs, no Abby, has got him feeling this way.  
  
Sark is still standing in the man's grasp, and he's still pissed off, yet at the same time calm. "Aiden, I don't believe you need to be reprimanding me the way you are, considering that I am your superior." And Sark knows he's glaring, tempting and pushing the man.  
  
"You forget you do not speak for me when we are not on an op." And Sark is now very pissed off, offended even. He's tempted to let this boy know where he stands.  
  
"Excuse me?" His words are slow, eyebrow arched, anger ablaze.  
  
And now, Aiden's voice is deathly low, a rage that Sark thought only he could achieve present in his brown eyes. "You," He shoves Sark away, disgusted with the touch of him under his fingers. And Sark stumbles back, only slightly, when his calves collide with the chair. "Cannot emotionally mind-warp me into doing whatever you wish me too." So, this is Aiden's revolution, self-independence declared in a confrontation with his adversary. "I am not your bitch. I will not SIT in a corner, and wait for you to call me as you wish. DON'T do it to them." And it's not surprising that Aiden would be the one to defend these women.  
  
A hissed intake of breath, while Aiden is reminding him that killing Sark is not the objective, where getting him to see the error of his ways is. "I don't make anyone do anything. These women make their own decisions." Sark responds. "They can do things for themselves, or is it that you believe they have no spines?"  
  
And suddenly it's time for Aiden to go into his normal role. Sark thinks he should work for the CIA with his humanitarian ways. "They do have spines, they have hearts and wishes. They have more feelings than you could ever even fucking fathom." So it's about this. It's about the women and Sark's antics. And as much as he may find Aiden's words to be right, he's pretty sure that Abs has been spending the evening in his room. "You're a fucking robot - you exploit them."  
  
"I do not exploit them, Aiden. I think you need to take a long hard look at who you are talking to, and what you are saying." This is getting more involved than he wants it to be. Damn you Aiden.  
  
Aiden is still seething and angry. Sark is amazed that he doesn't have flames roaring in his eyes. "I know exactly who I am talking to. And what I am saying is the truth. You have no idea what your damn games are doing. Morale is down and with a hostage in our custody - I do believe that should be rectified." The words are a direct stab and punch at Sark's ability as a leader.  
  
He is not going to make light of the situation. "Get out of this office now." His words are low and angry. "I have so many ways to fuck you over to Sunday, but I won't because I have more important things to worry about than what you have to say."  
  
But Aiden is not going to back down. "Otsosi" He dares - more Russian, this time wielding the words 'Blow Me'.  
  
And all the words, still have Sark angry. He is no longer cool and collected. He feels the urge to kill growing within him. "You do not want to get in to this with me." He's warning the other man.  
  
"Oh but I do, or I would never have come in here" Aiden knows he's playing with fire. He knows that this could end any way, but he can't live with himself if he does not try. The anger and the words are now pouring out.  
  
And Sark feels his fists clenching. "I will _kill_ you, Aiden." He's threatening the man with words that he knows he can back up.  
  
"Not if they kill you first," Aiden glares, "These women are experts in guns, knives and torture, are you sure you're wanting to mess with the? Honey catches more flies than vinegar, even you know that. And so why on earth couldn't you go bl'adki some where else is beyond me." The fact that Aiden thinks he views his operatives as whores, actually amuses Sark. A little.  
  
"I believe this conversation is over, Aiden." Sark states, wanting to go back to his prior duties.  
  
"If you wish," He turns to walk away, suddenly stopping and turning back when Sark is speaking again.  
  
"Because I am sure of the one thing I'm supposed to be sure of - we have a mission at hand, and your bringing forth this bull shit is pointless." Sark is callous and cold now. He is in the world of espionage and feelings don't exist.  
  
"Pointless to whom?" Aiden questions. And then a cold laugh. "I'll go now." And he once again turns to leave, but stops, abruptly, thinking. "Oh, but one thing," He turns, and Sark does not see the punch as it flies forward. Only feels as it connects with his jaw. And he does not fall, only his head cracks, feeling the pain and popping of joints out and back. And his eyes blur, becoming a haze with anger. He does not register anything, save for the click of the door as Aiden leaves, and he then collapses into his chair. Words and thoughts run through his head - new concerns for the task at hand. _Great,_ he thinks, _A fucking mutiny_.

* * *

The room is cold, sending unwanted chills through Will's body. And he watches the way Dixon enters the room, both staring through the two-way mirror at the events about to take place. Dixon flips an intercom switch on the wall, and they can hear the events in the adjacent room now. So Will doesn't say anything - because he already knows that he's skating on thin ice with the CIA director standing next to him. And so he stands, silence between them, and the girl he so desperately wants to protect in the interrogation with the man he so desperately wants to protect her from. "So, Elle, what is it that you would like to talk with me about?" Sloane questions.  
  
And the girl taps her papers on the table, sitting across from the man who has his feet cuffed to the bolted down piece of furniture. She lets a heavy breath escape her lips. "First of all, Mr. Sloane, we need to get one thing straight between us." Her eyes make contact with his, "You will address me as Ms. Williams, and only as Ms. Williams." She waits only a moment for the man to respond, brushing the bangs out of her eyes, and then preceding to go back through the papers. Sloane keeps quiet, and so she continues. "I am assuming, that you, being a follower of Rambaldi and his teachings, know about the incident between Mathias Mohrle and Rene Persson nine years ago. Am I correct?" She asks, tilting her head to the side.  
  
And Sloane nods. "Yes." He says, taking a slow drink of his glass of water. And her eyes travel with the glass, as he sets it back down. "Yes, I have heard of the events." He informs her. And she nods back at him, taking a moment to think and prepare her next question. If Arvin Sloane wants a game, she'll give him a game. She is a middle child in the family of four children. She has an older sister who never says anything unless it has an alternate meeting. She can play mind games.  
"And?" She prompts, waiting for Sloane to continue.  
  
"And it's the same thing I am sure you already know." Sloane responds. Elle feels a bit of anger growing within her. She doesn't want to play these games, but if she must, she will. She reaches across the table, grabbing the glass of water from its position before the man. And she puts the glass to her lips, taking a slow drink of it. Sloane watches her, his lips pressed together. "The real prophecy from page forty-seven has not been seen in the years, because both men went to jail in Belgium." He states. And Elle nods, taking the glass of water to her lips once more. She consumes all of the liquid in one drink, letting it travel down her throat slowly, and places the glass back on the table. Then she stands.  
  
"So, what did it say?" She asks, walking around him. And she's now standing behind Sloane, but he doesn't turn to look at her.  
  
Sloane lets a smirk dance across his face, and Will can see it through the two-way mirror. "Ms. Williams, I have never seen the true prophecy." He answers. And Elle takes a deep breath, nodding. She walks back around to the front of the table, then to the wall before Sloane. She stands against it. And she's remembering how her older sister once got her to admit to using her lip stick.  
  
"Do you really expect me to believe that?" She asks, crossing one ankle over the other. And she then crosses her arms in front of her chest, running her tongue along her upper row of teeth. "You are a follower of Rambaldi. I've read up on your files and I know how far you would go to seek his words and teachings. And you're really going to expect me to believe that you never looked in to what the prophecy truly says?" She asks, her head tilted forward expectantly.  
  
Sloane takes a deep breath. "I have an idea of what it says." He states. And Elle lets her eyebrows raise only slightly. "You might want to write this down."

* * *

There's a faint smell of bourbon hanging low in the air. And the room is hot, heat pouring into the atmosphere from the burning butane lighter on the table. A spoon sits on a contraption created earlier, the rounded scoop of the utensil right above the flame. And it's just like a heroin addict might do, though there is no drug melting.  
  
Allison takes a deep breath, continuing to wash and clean the deep wound on Simon's thigh. And she wonders if this is one of those situations where they should have opted for a hospital. His eyes meet her, almost desperate now, knowing that the bourbon has dulled his senses. And he's waiting for the burning of flesh - the cauterization. Allison presses her lips together, taking a deep breath, continuing to stare at the wound before her. Luckily it was simply a puncture wound - sharp and painful, but straight, with no bit of drag. "She's a bitch." Allison lets the words leave her mouth - a solid disdain and hatred for Sydney Bristow still very present within her.  
  
Simon is wearing a white wife beater tank top and the black tux pants from the banquet still. Allison immediately ripped open the pant leg earlier, to access his injury. "Tell me about it." His words a slurred only slightly, and his hair is a mess atop his head. "I spent a long time sleeping with that woman." He groans, and looks in the direction of the large picture window across the room. "Truly is beautiful here." But Allison has ignored his last words.  
  
"Yeah well I still look like her damn stupid ass room mate." And he can tell that she wishes she could be herself again. She looks to the spoon, wondering if it's hot enough, and pictures herself testing it out on her own finger. "And what the hell is so special about this b? I mean, Jesus Christ, it seems like the whole God Damn world stops for her." Allison is disgruntled, angry, bitter even.  
  
Simon shrugs, still staring out at the beautiful night sky. He's never seen stars like this before, and wonders if it's the bourbon. "It's that prophecy." He answers, slowly. "It consumes Sark." He takes a deep breath and looks at Allison. "I haven't known him long, but I know that he's a follower - he wants to make sense of the words just as much as his every leader has." Simon watches the way she shrugs, slipping her hand into the thick glove and retrieving the scalding metal.  
  
"Don't bite your tongue." She warns him, in the literal sense, knowing that this kind of burning heat can send a person into shock. And he smiles, just before he grits his teeth, taking the heat and pain like a man. Burnt flesh mixes into the bourbon in the air, and he's no longer bleeding. "I know he's a follower." She sighs. And her mind is remembering the Sark she used to know - not the one who now thinks and acts just as erratic as Arvin Sloane. "He's almost like a zealot when it comes to Rambaldi anymore - he's turning into all the old followers who can't control their own actions. And Sark let's his world spin out of control some times, because he thinks that Milo Rambaldi holds that balance."  
  
She begins to start giving the man the stitches he needs. And Simon nods, knowing that unless Sark can get a handle on himself, they might as well consider themselves screwed.

* * *

The room is dark, and Sydney is not yet in new clothes, like Sark had promised. But she never trusted that promise. And she's bound to a aluminum chair, not at all slipping out of consciousness like she has before in situations like the present. The door opens, sending light to dance on her face, and a silhouette of a woman is before her. Shivers and memories. And she feels like she sees her mother again, remembering Taipei. Memories of scars and wounds - betrayal of blood. And the heels are clicking on the floor as the door shuts. The woman crosses the room, and pulls up a different chair, a smile on her face. And Sydney sees that it isn't her mother, but the woman she met before, Stephania.  
  
"Hello Sydney." She sits just before her with a leg crossed over the other. "I know it's going to sound cliché, so I won't say that there are two ways we can do this." And she's pulling a small table over, letting the metal legs screech on the cement floor, until it stops just in front of Sydney. "There are many ways we can do this, some good for me and some good for you." She takes a deep breath, shaking her head slightly. "It all depends on you, and if you're going to give me the information I want to hear." She reaches overhead, pulling the dangling switch to a low hanging light.  
  
And Sydney looks away, refusing to make eye contact. Steph smiles. So this is how the infamous Sydney Bristow reacts. This is what the girl she's heard stories about, does as her first act of defiance. Maybe she's going to like this a little more than she planned. "That's fine, Sydney. I prefer the way that's good for me, as well." And Steph reaches for her first tool - tweezers. Sydney is confused, just for one moment, but then realizes what she's set out to do, as the woman begins to remove the bandage on her left arm.  
  
She grits her teeth, and maybe gasps as the first of the fresh stitches is ripped from her flesh. Blood once again begins to pour, sending pain jolting through her body. But the young CIA agent knows she can take it, and so she holds strong.


	12. Chapter Eleven, A Deal with the Devil

**Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds**

ELEVEN – _A Deal with the Devil_

Rating: PG/PG-13

Setting: LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe

Characters: Elle Williams (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Arvin Sloane, Sark, Abs Michaelis (Jessica Alba), Aiden Ivanov (Hugh Dancy or James Franco), Simon Walker, Allison Doren, McKenas Cole, Steph Mariani (Eliza Dushku), Sydney Bristow, Will Tippin, Marcus Dixon, Lauren Reed, Khazari Bomani mentioned Christine Esperanza (MilaJovovich), Jack Bristow, Suit & Glasses,

Length: 5,756 Words  
  
She pulls the monogrammed pen from the file folder on the table, sitting down across from Arvin Sloane, crossing her right leg over her left. And she holds the pen in her hand, eyes tracing the name remembering it as a gift from her younger brother, before she raises an eyebrow in the direction of the man before her. She then holds the pen as though she's about to write, waiting for the man to dictate words for her. "Actually, it would probably be best if I write this." He states, and she eyes him for a moment, weighing the options. She knows that the ball is in his court, because if he tries anything he's taken out of this questioning and the CIA doesn't get the Intel they want anyway. That of course would then slow their rescue of Agent Bristow, and she definitely does not want to be one of the people behind that. And so she sighs, making eye contact.  
  
She mentally makes her decision, before surrendering the black pen and pad of paper to the man. He smiles at her graciously, and even thanks her, though she doesn't know how sincere it is, as he begins to vigorously write the words on the paper. And Elle stands, leaving the table and walking to the two-way mirror. She knows that the two men on the other side are probably discussing Sloane's actions, and so she adjuster her hair for a moment, smiling. A part of her wonders if Will is watching, but she shakes the thoughts, just before she turns to face Sloane again.  
  
She takes a slow deep breath, her eyes surveying the very empty room dressed in shades of gray, before they land back on Arvin Sloane who seems to be in a completely different world as he writes the words. She wonders why he opted to write it himself, letting her mind slip and slide through all the possibilities. She settles on thinking that it might possible be a code. And so she just waits, watching him. "Alright." She hears him speak, looking up at her while she watches him. "Here you go." He seems smug, possibility. And he has that smile that is always spread across his face.  
  
She crosses the room, her arms moving just slightly with every step. She truly is awkward in this environment, but she's trying her best to act as though she's completely comfortable. She smiles as she lifts the paper from the area he left it waiting for her. And her eyes read the words not once or twice - Her eyes reread the statement four or five times before she speaks. "You're kidding, right?" She asks.

* * *

His footfalls on the tile floor are the only thing in his ears as they echo off the walls and he walks the long hallway to the room. And it's the same one from before - the room that Abs was in throwing daggers before. He likes walking down this hall, hearing his every footstep, as though his the 'lob-dob' of his heart. The echo and the solidarity pleases him, because he loves knowing that he's the only one in the hallway - he's the only one traveling through this corridor. There's no one around to bother him, because Sark loves his time alone. He reaches that same door at the end of the hall, taking a deep breath before he opens it, slowly.  
  
Just as he has expected, and always expects, Abs is standing, throwing razor sharp daggers at that same black 'X' on the wall. She does this so that anyone who enters the room, has to get through her. He watches as the knives fly past him, going from his left to his right. They make eye contact, and he can see a glare dressed in her features. She's not playful like normal, she's not pretending like she's about to throw a dagger at him, causing him to duck. Instead she just stands, her weight resting on one hip as she waits for him to walk past. She's not going to throw at him, and she's not going to talk to him. And Sark thinks for a moment, watching the look on her face. She's not going to give him the attention he likes. _So this is what it's like to be her._  
  
He walks past, not admitting that he feels let down from the lack of exchange. He hears the familiar sound as a blade hits the wall from behind him, lingering in his ears. And a part of him longs for the echoing footsteps from before. He lets his eyes travel around the room, observing those who have opted to spend their time in this room. Seems as though he was the only one not let in on the memo informing them that this was a meeting. He wonders if they've been talking, planning an overthrow. But he knows that Aiden knows better. Aiden is sitting in the corner, reading the same book he's seem him tote around after and before other operations. Allison is sitting at a table, with Simon across from her, playing chess. For some reason Sark is amused. And McKenas sits on the couch he and Abs had been using earlier, the same bottle of champagne now placed on the floor.  
  
"Julian!" He exclaims. And Sark just nods, knowing that the man has probably been bantering back and forth with Abs for the evening. The two don't like each other, at all. He wonders if he's going to have to stop her from throwing one of the knives in Cole's direction. Probably not. "What the hell happened to your jaw?" The words echo in his brain, and he realizes that he probably has a bruise he didn't even know about. Damn Aiden.

* * *

Steph watches as the blood continues to pour from Sydney's arm, and wonders if the loss might make the woman pass out. She keeps a really hard look on her face, in spite of the fact that she'd love to smile. "So, Sydney." She lets the words leave her mouth, slowly, as she pulls only slightly on the next stitch. She's already got two out. She can feel as Sydney's arm is tensing up again, and just manages to hold back from ripping it out. "This is where I'd normally ask the question 'Who do you work for?' But obviously I know that." And for a moment, Sydney thinks she sees a smile, just before the woman in the suit rips the next stitch out, causing a quick cry of pain to leave her mouth. She feels as the woman then reaches up and runs her hand through Sydney's hair.  
  
She then stands up, walking away from the girl who sits, blood pouring from her arm more than before. Her heels are clicking on the floor, her shape and figure continuing to remind Sydney of her mother and that night in Taipei. It's haunting, actually. And Sydney continues to sit in the chair, and watch the woman. "Alright," Steph sighs, turning back to Sydney. She waits a moment, choosing her words, and creating anticipation in the woman she's interrogating. Steph is all about drawing things out like this. She loves to make the person she's interrogating agonize. She takes a deep breath, looking eyes traveling over Sydney's body. "I guess we should get to the questioning." She walks back, sitting in the chair before her again. "You wanna make this easy for yourself and agree to speak?"  
  
"Go to hell!" Sydney is quick to yell at the girl. Steph kind of rolls her eyes and shakes her head, reaching to the table for a different tool. She lets her fingers browse the tools, not looking at them. And suddenly she feels the loogie of spit land on her face. She. Is. Livid.  
  
Steph grabs a towel, and slowly wipes the spit from her own face, angry. "Yeah I didn't think you'd want this to be easy for you." She's very mad, letting a heavy breath leave her mouth. She feels vengeful even, but instead controls herself. She reaches over to her tools, and grabs a one-inch plastic block, used to hold a person's mouth open at the dentist. And she smiles, remembering days and nights studying under Suit & Glasses once more. "I know you know the methods of a colleague of mine." She states, prying open Sydney's mouth. She places the small bite guard into the woman's mouth, and views the missing teeth. She smiles. "Yes, you do know his work." And she then turns, reaching for her tools. "I do things a different way."

* * *

To say the feeling in the room is tense, would be an understatement, as Sark lets his eyes fall on Aiden. The question is still fresh in his mind. _What the hell happened to your jaw?_. The words are so simple, and the answer, isn't quite, though it is. He looks to Cole as well, thinking of an acceptable answer. But none come to mind, because Sark finds nothing of the situation acceptable. He raises his eyebrows in a kind of 'to hell with it' way, and lets a heavy breath leave his mouth. "Well, to be perfectly honest with you, Mckenas," He lets his eyes drift back to Aiden once more, giving him one of those warn-ful glares he knows how to fabricate so well. And Aiden keeps a stone cold face, almost daring Sark to speak on the exchange between them only minutes ago. "Aiden-"  
  
"I punched him." Aiden's words interrupt Sark. And the man who was punched now feels defeated. Aiden has the upper hand because he came clean. He curses himself for being so foolish. He sighs, standing in front of Cole, and letting his eyes look at every person. He can't see Abs, but he knows she's staring at him, looking from his back to Aiden's eyes. He can tell by the lack of thrown daggers, and the look on Aiden's face, pleading with her and trying to explain. Simon and Allison both don't seem as preoccupied with the conversation as everyone else. They're both occasionally glancing in the direction, and not talking. And of course there's the smug grin planted on Aiden's face - the grin that Sark thought he was the only one allowed to command.  
  
And then, there's McKenas Cole. He's kind of confused with the whole scene being played out before him, and yet at the same time impressed. And so he stands from the couch, champagne bottle left on the floor, walking in the direction of Sark. "So, you punched him?" He glances back over his shoulder at Aiden. And he's standing there, right in front of Sark, eyes trained on the bruised jaw. Sark lets a heavy sigh leaves his breath, wondering what is going through the man's mind. "Very impressive work, Mr. Ivanov. Looks like it could be a KO but... probably not." He shakes his head, the same wild-eyed grin still dancing in his eyes. Sark wants to leave, suddenly, check in on Steph's interrogation. This whole exchange is asinine and pointless. "May I touch it?"

* * *

The sound of the door opening rings through the room, and Elle spins on her heel, turning in its direction. She looks up behind her glasses as Dixon walks into the room, Will staying behind the two-way mirror. He slams the door shut, urgency burning in his movements. His face is less than pleased, and he takes the pad of paper from Elle's hand, walking by her. He lets his eyes skim over it, then looks up at Sloane, as he slaps the note pad on the table, placing his hands on the edge and leaning in the direction of the man. "What kind of stunt are you trying to pull here?" Dixon's words are low, and Elle takes a half step backward. She watches the man, both shocked in his sudden lack of control, and amazed in his new display of control. Dixon's tactics are very sharp and in tune with the situation.  
  
Sloane has a completely different look on his face now. This look is that of arrogance and possibly self-importance. He takes a deep breath holding his eyes on the man who is suddenly trying to intimidate him. "Ya know, Marcus, you used to respect me." He says. Elle continues to stand with her hands folded low in front of her hips. "I think she respects me." He states, nodding on her direction. And Elle's eyes widen at the thought of her being brought into the conversation. She finds it very odd that she feels fine being alone in the room with Sloane, but when Dixon is with her, the tone is suddenly unsettling. She figures it has to do with the history looming between the two men. She vaguely brushed up on the information provided earlier, and really does feel for Director Dixon.  
  
"Answer my question, you sorry son of a bitch." Dixon growls.  
  
Sloane lets the smile still play on his face as he leans back in his chair, slightly. "You read the paper, director." He states. "I want a pardon from the US Government before I speak about anything I know." Elle sighs. She was shocked when she first read the words on the paper, confused. She turns for a second, glancing at the two-way mirror. Will. She wonders what he's thinking, if he's chomping at the bit to come and 'rescue' her from this situation. And what a day it's been, she thinks. She showed up at work early in the morning, preparing to do some research on an up and coming arms dealer from Argentina, but instead found herself whisked into the world only known to analysts, as 'first at-bat'. And she thinks of Will, her boss, and how she's worked under him for nearly a month, and it's only now that he can remember her name. She smiles at her reflection in the mirror, wondering if he's smiling back.  
  
Dixon stands up, the sound of his movements drawing Elle's attention back to the events taking place before her. She takes a deep breath as he turns to her, handing her the pen she allowed Sloane to use. "I'm calling Lauren Reed." He states, walking out of the interrogation room all together, in to the hall. And suddenly Will is out of the room from behind the mirror, walking over to Elle.

* * *

"See, what makes me different, from my associate," Steph has slipped a pair of glasses on and is now sitting very close to Sydney's body, staring down into her open mouth. "Is that I don't pull the teeth." She smiles. And Sydney gulps as she hears the sound of some sort of drill or other kind of low humming tool, being switched on. She brings it to the woman's mouth, and Sydney can tell that it's the same kind of tool women use to shape their fingernails. And it has a metal head on it, the light bouncing off the fast paced spin it exhibits. "I grind them." Steph is smiling, and Sydney's eyes aren't depicting the shock burning with in her. Slowly the woman brings the tool closer to her mouth, and she touches it to one of her teeth, sending instant pain, before she pulls it away very quickly. "That is unless you want to talk." She smiles.  
  
She then reaches in to Sydney's mouth and pulls the plastic bite block out. Sydney coughs a little, glaring at the woman before her. She wonders, though, in her mind what it is that they need her for. They've all been referring to her as a form of negotiation, and yet here she is being tortured for Intel. But most of all, she's wondering why they aren't using her in some kind of Rambaldi web, tangling her with in words of prophecy and inventions before their time. "Yeah I think we should talk." Steph smiles after the words, and puts the tool down on the table. She then stands, and walks away from the woman bound to the chair. "Let's talk about Project Black hole."  
  
"I don't know anything about Black hole." Sydney declares. Steph frowns, sighing and rolling her eyes. She sits back down before her and shoves the bite block back inside the woman's mouth. Instantly she has the tool from before turned on, and is leaning over the woman. She shoves it in her mouth, set at the highest setting, and starts at the back, finding the most sensitive spots to each tooth. The pain is more that Sydney had expected it to be upon the first taste of this woman's wrath. But she takes it, letting everything she's ever been taught by her father, SD-6 and the CIA take over. She'll never give up the Intel, because she knows her life is far too important for these people. If they wanted her dead, she'd already be dead.

* * *

Elle and Will slip into the room behind the two-way mirror. At the same time Director Dixon and Lauren Reed walk into the room where Sloane still sits - they room they are at liberty to view. "Oh wow," She trails for a moment, looking through the window. "These things work really well." She laughs, only slightly; turning back and looking at Will who is standing a few feet away from her. And she turns back to the window, watching the way Lauren sits in the seat across from Sloane, writing on some forms. "So what is going on, exactly?" Elle questions, as Will walks up and stands next to her. He has his hands folded across his chest, his lips pressed together, and he lets a slow audible breath leave though his nose. She looks over at him, finding that there's something slightly different, but she can't exactly place her finger on it.  
  
"Well," He begins to speak, glancing over at her for a split second and then back to the window. She grins when she realizes what is different, letting her eyes also peer into the room before them. Will isn't wearing his glasses, she's noticed, and is taking a slow, almost exhausted breath. "Ms. Reed is writing up the pardon for Sloane." He states. And Elle nods, already knowing what is going on in the room. They both stand in silence, listening as Lauren explains the details on the form. "Are you sure you're okay with the questioning?" Will asks, breaking the soft words they've been listening to. And she turns to find him looking at her.  
  
She thinks for a moment, watching Will's face, and smiles. "Yeah." She replies, nodding slightly. "I am." Will nods in response, and turns back to the window. She follows suit, the silence and soft words once again enveloping them.  
  
Quickly Lauren has finished, getting things signed, and Sloane's pardon enforced. Elle watches as the cuffs and shackles are removed from the man, and he sits in the room as a free man. Lauren and Dixon shake hands, just before she exits the room, rushing to inform her superiors in Washington DC of the event that just transpired. And Elle is ushered back in the room, by Dixon, to continue her line of questioning with the man in the interrogation room. "Okay, Mr. Sloane..." She trails, once Dixon has exited. She smiles at him, noting that he has an entirely different tone being reflected in his features. "So, let's talk about that information for your pardon." She sits down in front of him, the pen and pad of paper in front of her.  
  
Sloane folds his hands on the table, watching the way Elle awaits his response. "You remind me of a younger version of my late wife, Emily."

* * *

Sark's face depicts that of shock, as he watches the way McKenas stares at him expectantly. "Alright, I'm taking that as a 'no', I guess." He laughs only slightly, and glances back at Aiden once more. "I've got to be honest though, I was sort of expecting something like this when I placed the both of you on this detail." McKenas then walks away from Sark, so that he can look at both men with out having to turn. "Ya see, the two of you are a conflict of interests, both contradicting the other." He looks over as Abs begins to throw her daggers once more, losing interest. He smiles at Sark, wild eyes staring into those of a calm, content man. He wonders, for a moment, if his words are even meaning anything to the man. But instead of pondering those thoughts, he takes a deep breath and begins to speak again.  
  
"The two of you are brothers." He says. And both Aiden and Sark let their eyes widen at the blatant lie. "Not brothers by blood or genes or anything like that. But you're brothers by heritage. Both stemming from proud Russian families." It's weird all the insight McKenas Cole possesses. Sark would have never even guessed it to come from him. He continues to press his lips together, waiting for this pointless conversation to end. "Cane and Able, Romulus and Remus, Isaac and Ishmael..." Cole is trailing for the moment, thinking of his next words. "Nothing good has ever come when brothers are working together."  
  
"What about the Brother's Grimm, or the Wright Brothers?" He hears Simon suddenly speaking. Cole turns his head, looking at him.  
  
"Shut up Simon." He boldly dictates, and the man quiets. "More often than not, brothers turn on one another, and as much as you two may think you aren't brothers and couldn't be more different - the fact is that you do hold these similarities and we have to deal with them." He eyes both men. And the moment is starting to feel a little less tense and labored. "Now, I don't care who did what to piss whom off. I don't care what brought on this punch, at all, so don't tell me." He stops talking, thinking as he prepares his next words. "And as I said, I was partially expecting something like this. So here I am, faced with two options. One would be to put you, Aiden, as Sark's partner in this mission. But again we're back to brother's working together.... We're back to seeing those parallels."  
  
Abs stops throwing her daggers now, listening and realizing that something is truly going on. She exhales, walking to the wall and retrieving the knives she's already thrown. "Abs, come here, I want you to hear this, and we'll tell Steph when she's done." Abs groans, not liking to be in close proximity with the man who's been speaking. She carries a few of the knives with her, and stands somewhat close to Sark, staring at Cole expectantly. "I've already enlisted a junior management agent from the South American cell to come in and work with us. When she arrives, she'll be taking over in command." Abs scoffs, slightly, and as McKenas turns to look at Allison and Simon, she raises one of the knives in her hand, Sark grabbing her wrist before she does anything.

* * *

The grinding stops, and she removes the tool from Sydney's mouth, followed by the bite block. Sydney leans forward, coughing again, spitting what feels like blood on to the front of herself. "I'm curious," She states, watching the way Sydney is recovering from the pain she just had rushing through her body. "Are you ready to start speaking?" She asks. Steph stands, walking away. And it's starting to get to Sydney, actually. Always with the up and down and up and down. She wonders if it's a character trait or if it's a form of interrogation. She figures it's the interrogation, living through the techniques this girl uses. She's smart, intuitive. She knows exactly what is going on at all times, completely aware of every word and every action that needs to occur. Sydney is actually impressed.  
  
"I don't know anything about Project Black hole." Sydney states, almost tired. And Steph turns to her, standing just outside of the light. She has this sinister look spreading across her features from the lighting. And Sydney just waits for the next words, or the next form of torture. She kind of wonders how long this will carry on. Stephania seems like she could carry on for days, and judging by her actions, she could back it all up.  
  
Steph groans, frustrated with the words. "If you don't know about Project Black hole, then how come you were present when Sark returned Director Dixon's child to him? How come you were in possession of the box that was from lot forty-five? If you know nothing about Black hole, then how come you are linked to it?" She asks. Sydney keeps quiet. "Exactly." Steph keeps backed away from the woman, in the blackness as she paces, thinking. "So I think I should ask this question again, shouldn't I? What do you know about Project Black hole?" She boldly asks. And she steps back into the light, looking even more deadly and dangerous than before. Sydney hates it that she keeps finding herself having respect for this woman's tactics.  
  
"I know nothing of Black hole." She responds. And Steph hates it that she's respecting Sydney's tactics. She sits back down in the chair and grabs the tweezers again. This is not about torture or interrogation right now. This is about her utter hatred. The woman's resilience is beginning to ware on her, heavy. She reaches her hand forward and rips one of the stitches out, watching as the blood flow begins to pick up. She smiles.

* * *

"Her name is Celestine Carmen Esperanza Rosalyn Diego Fernandez... Or something along those lines." Cole scratches his head, looking at all the other people in the room. He lets his head shake for a moment, then begins speaking once more. "She goes by Christine, and she'll be here tomorrow morning, early." He explains. And everyone continues to keep quiet, listening to the words. Everyone save for Abs.  
  
"Whoa," She is suddenly speaking, walking away from Sark and over to McKenas. "What the hell are you doing? We're in the middle of this operation, we _have_ the hostage here, and now you're going to bring some random person in here to head things up. Don't you think that if someone should take Sark's place it should be one of us - Someone who has been working on this operation just as long as he and everyone else has?" She's speaking loudly, standing before Cole, holding a dagger in her hand. And a part of her desperately wants to throw the knife and see where it lands in his chest. A part of her wants to just let him have it - though she knows she should not. She looks to her left, hearing someone moving; it's Simon. He's standing up, using the set of wooden crutches as he walks over. She lets her eyes fall on the dark-haired man and wonders why he's suddenly taking interest.  
  
Simon stops, his armpits resting in the crutches, standing on his right leg. His left is off the ground, the entire leg resting slightly forward in comparison to the other. And he wears a kind of different outfit, loose fitting black pants, but the same white wife beater tank top. "I'm going to have to agree with Abs on this subject." He stands next to her, waiting for McKenas to respond, though he doesn't. "But here's what I'm thinking - we can still work with this new girl, and even let her head up some of the operation, but we can't give her all the control. So whom do we replace Mr. Sark with?" He glances over his shoulder at Sark, the blonde man realizing that this is in fact happening, and he is in fact being over thrown. "I suggest we allow one of us - someone who has been on this op for a while, to head things up."  
  
"That's fine." Both Simon and Abs look up as Cole says the words. Simon turns, glancing at her, and she kind of shrugs in response. "Christine is still going to head things up, and work on the document forgery we're bringing her in for." He walks back to the couch and sits down; making sure everyone has his or her attention on him. He likes it when they're all this intent, listening to the words he has to say. "So to head up operations with her, I'm going to appoint..." He trails for a moment, looking at each person in the room. His eyes land on Abs and he smiles. She smiles back. "Yeah, I'm picking Steph."

* * *

Elle rubs her eyes slightly, walking next to Will as they both enter Dixon's office. Dixon, who was walking just before them, stands behind his desk, waiting for the two to sit down in the chairs before it. And they do so, as Lauren enters the room as well. She sits in a third chair, barely in everyone's line of vision, and Dixon sits down behind his desk. "So Ms. Williams, what is your analysis of what Sloane said?" He questions. And Elle nods, looking down at the pad of paper. She exhales heavily before she begins to speak.  
  
"Well, umm, I think he was lying." She answers. And the look on Dixon's face is anything but pleased. He turns to Lauren, preparing to tell her to terminate his pardon because he didn't follow through with his end of the bargain. "That being said, Director, he did give me information about what he thinks is on the original page 47." She licks her lips, wetting them slightly, and looks down at the paper for a moment. She looks back up at Dixon.  
  
Elle sits for a moment, deciding her next words. "He said that what was on page 47 wasn't actually supposed to be a prophecy at all. The true prophecy is in a box of some sort. And that what was on the original page 47 was directions on how to open the box." Dixon groans, remembering the box which he and Sydney gave to Sark in exchange for his daughter's life.

* * *

Sydney doesn't dare cry out in pain as she'd like to. She just continues to feel the sharp agonizing jolts of evil as Steph pulls more of her stitches out. One. Two. Three. And she tries to mentally do the math. There are only about six left in. The blood isn't exactly pouring or rushing, but she can hear it pooling on the floor beneath her chair. She looks up as Steph sighs, staring at Sydney. "This is really getting old." She shakes her head, standing again. Up. Down. Up. Down. She looks at the table, surveying her options. "There's so much I can do..." She trails for a moment, looking to the small bottle. And she then sits down in the chair once more, holding in her hands, in front of Sydney. She doesn't know if this tactic will work - very aware that this woman has been hard-wired to be a spy ever since she was a little girl.  
  
"Do you know what this is?" She questions, holding the bottle before Sydney. She then holds her hand up, stopping Sydney from speaking. "It's a prototype for the Truth Serum that you and your father believe you stole the only one of this evening." She smiles. "And so I'm sure you know all about it, and what it does." She smiles, holding a syringe next to the small bottle. "But I'm not going to use it, because well... to be honest it would make it so you can't feel what I'm actually going to do." She shakes her head, and reaches for what has looked like a long narrow leather bag. She opens it, pulling out a red cloth. And she then opens the cloth, slowly unfolding it, to show a series of five acupuncture needles. "You know McKenas Cole - He calls you pig tails." She states, holding up one of the needles.  
  
And Steph then holds the needle in front of Sydney's face, "Here's the deal, a few years ago he used his set of _Needles Of Fire_ on your former boss, Arvin Sloane." Steph smiles, holding the needle near her once more. Sydney tries to watch the woman, but feels her vision begin to blur. "But see, I changed the recipe, I made them better." She takes a deep breath. "So right about now, Ms. Bristow, would be a lovely time to give me the information you have on Project Black hole, otherwise you're going to feel some of the most acute pain you've ever felt in your life. And I don't kid around about this." Sydney feels her head get heavy, and then light as her eyes shut. The loss of blood through out the past few hours is too much for her body to take, and she passes out.

* * *

The heavy glass doors shut, making a click as they latch. Lauren Reed quickly walks out of the office, pulling the black cell phone from her purse. She finds her way to the same disclosed entryway she always uses to call Sark, and begins dialing the phone. She then holds it to her ear, watching the way people scurry around the main office, talking among each other. When she hears the answer on the other end she smiles. "Arvin Sloane told them about the directions to open the box - he didn't have any new information however." She states.  
  
"Was he pardoned?" The voice on the other end questions. And Lauren smiles, knowing that she's done her job well. She responds with a yes, waiting for the man to speak again. "I will get the information out of him." The man states. And Lauren nods, knowing he can't see her. "What is the CIA's next move?"  
  
"They've decided to try to negotiate, Jack Bristow and the other agent arrive with in the hour and they'll start talks then." Lauren hears as the man tells her she's doing a good job. She smiles at his voice. He then thanks her for making contact so quickly. "You're welcome, Mr. Bomani." She hangs the phone up and then walks back out into the main office.


	13. Chapter Twelve, Prospects Damage the Eff...

**Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds**

TWELVE –_ Prospects Damage the Effect_

Rating: PG-13 (Harsh Language)

Setting: LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe, Berlin

Characters: Marcus Dixon, Jack Bristow, Eric Weiss, Marshall Flinkman, Will Tippin, Elle Williams (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Sark, Steph Mariani (ElizaDushku), Simon Walker, Allison Doren, McKenas Cole, Abs Michaelis (Jessica Alba), Aiden Ivanov (Hugh Dancy or James Franco), Michael Vaughn, Marianske Kafka (Naomi Watts) mentioned Arvin Sloane, Dr. Barnett, Sydney Bristow

Length: 5,293 Words

Marcus Dixon sits at the desk in his office, reading over the notes and observations the new analyst to join the team made after her meeting with Arvin Sloane. He, of course, witnessed the entire exchange, but the perspective the young woman takes is an interesting one. She hasn't been working with these people, but for a few hours, and isn't exactly blinded by Rambaldi, like everyone else. The fact that she thought Sloane was lying when talking about Rambaldi shows is a true sign of the useful perspective she has. And Dixon is engrossing himself in this case, concerned for the well being of this particular agent, Sydney Bristow, more than he ever has been before. She is the last person he'd ever wish this kind of thing on. The outcome of his own children's kidnapping is probably why the Covenant decided to go this route. They have come to the conclusion that they can get the CIA to do anything if all they do is threaten lives.  
  
He's also reading the forty-page report the new analyst did on the two men that the Covenant wants released a few months ago. The words and information are filling his mind, because he's obsessing over this case. He can't see why he wouldn't be obsessing over it. He's finding that he's going back into the same mindset he had when Sydney _died_ nearly three years ago. The things that this woman has been through for her country amazes him every day of his life. And when he thinks she's had too much and she's about to break, she's always there, throwing herself back into the line of fire. He can't help but think of the moment she volunteered herself to wear the collar with the deadly toxin in it, keeping his own daughter from suffering anymore. And it's true, Sydney Bristow is his hero.  
  
Dixon looks up at the sound of a soft knock on his door. It's Jacqueline, the woman who in a normal office environment would be called his secretary. "Director Dixon," Her words are soft, trying not to interrupt him. And he smiles at her, letting her know that she's not interrupting, and he's available. "Agents Bristow and Weiss just showed up, and Arvin Sloane was just released at the airport to go back to Zurich." She informs him. And Dixon nods, standing. He quickly secures the buttons on the front of his suit jacket, leaving the report on his desk, and walks out. The second his eyes fall on the two men standing in the main work area of the Joint Task Force building, he feels relieved. At least they made it back safely.  
  
"Jack, Weiss." He says, nodding his head as he walks over, letting them know that he has been awaiting their arrival. Weiss looks like something is entirely off, which it is. He looks normal for the most part; save for the fact that his face relays the guilt and shock he most certainly is feeling. Jack on the other hand has that same urgent look on his face as he always gets whenever Sydney goes on any mission. And it wasn't until his own kids were kidnapped and in the direct line of danger that her ever began to understand the wrinkles blazed into Jack's features. The stress this man must go through is immeasurable, Dixon can't even begin to fathom the restless nights filled with worry.  
  
It was one thing when Sydney and Dixon were partners. Yes he felt for her and cared about the decisions she made and the danger she was in, but he always had faith that she was a good operative and would be able to get herself out of a tough situation, if it were to come up. However, the second Dixon saw his own daughter being used as a negotiation piece he began to understand the way Jack must feel. The fact is that this man knows his daughter is a good operative and has to have faith in her abilities. But on the other hand, bottom line, he is still her father. And this is still his littler girl who is being thrown to the wolves for the sake of their country. He looks up as he hears Jack begin to speak. "Has Sydney or the Covenant made contact yet?" He questions. And Dixon knows he's not going to get any emotion out of the CIA agent, at least not right now, because this time is about work.  
  
"No, we haven't received any contact." And Dixon knows without the words being said, that Jack needs some time alone with him in his office. So he hesitates, before turning, Jack already taking off in the direction of the secluded discussion to commence. "Weiss, have a debrief on the mission in my hands by the end of the day." And Weiss nods, leaving. Dixon then turns, walking to his office. Once inside the door, he finds Jack in his seat, rifling through the notes.  
  
"God help me, I will kill anyone who tries to take my daughter from me, ever again." And Dixon lets the door click shut.

* * *

Eric Weiss is exhausted. He needs coffee, really a jolt of any kind. And he is quick to Marshall's office - knowing the man always has caffeine around. "Flinkman." He states opening the door. And Marshall is startled, dropping the gadget he's working on. He turns, his eyes behind bifocals.  
  
"Agent Weiss!" He states, excited. "You're back!" And Weiss nods.  
  
"Look, Marshall do you have any..." He trails. "I need caffeine." Suddenly Marshall is up off the stool he's been sitting on, to a small mini fridge located beneath the long desk he uses.  
  
And he pulls a can out. "Mountain Dew." Weiss nods graciously, opening the carbonated drink. And he then takes a long drink, Marshall thinking that he might finish off the whole thing all at once. But he pulls it from his mouth, smiling. "Have you met Elle yet?"  
  
"Who?" He asks, just before taking another drink of the soda. He needs this kind of jolt. And Marshall reaches into the refrigerator, pulling out another can. He puts it on the desk, awaiting its need from Weiss.  
  
"She's a new analyst, assigned to this task force a couple of hours ago." Marshall states. The other man raises his eyebrows. "Actually, she's right out there with Will, now." The shorter man states, and Weiss turns, looking out the window, squinting and ducking at the same time, to get a better look.  
  
Weiss's eyes dance upon the woman standing next to Will Tippin. He can only see her from a side view, brown hair pulled out of her face in a frustrated or even stressed bird's nest of a bun - a pen stuck inside it. And she has black-framed glasses, wears a light blue blouse and a black skirt. She and Will are speaking to one another, her hands moving as she talks. And they've both suddenly stopped, just standing there thinking. He figures they're looking for himself or Jack. And Weiss stands up straight, glances at his reflection on a mirror, which resides on one of Marshall's cabinet doors. And he looks like he feels - exhausted. He wears a deep charcoal gray pin-striped suit, slimming of some kind, and in spite of his face or hair, he looks like his normal self in the office.  
  
"I'm going to go introduce myself." He states, grabbing the unopened can of soda. "Thanks Marshall." And with that, Weiss exits the office. He hopes to himself, that the man he knows as 'Tippin' will notice him. He doesn't want to approach with out reason. And he's relieved when he hears his name.  
  
"Agent Weiss!" It's Will. Thank God. He acts as though he's pulled from a train of thought, looking up at Will. And he walks over, slowly, carrying a soda in each hand, suddenly feeling stupid. "Thirsty?" And now he's cursing Will. Why couldn't he have just ignored the joke this one time?  
  
"Caffeine." Weiss responds.  
  
"I have some iced coffees in the joint refrigerator for our offices, Will. I can go get some if you need caffeine, Agent Weiss." The woman he has yet to meet is already offering things to him, smiling the entire time.  
  
"Those were _your_ iced coffees?" Will asks her. And she nods slowly. "Sorry." Weiss feels out of place. There's, of course first, the vibes that Will is sending to the woman he has yet to be introduced to, that Weiss finds to be putting him off, uncomfortable. And of course the pearly white grin coming from the woman, directed at them both. And Weiss thinks that maybe this girl is putting it on a little too thick. "Oh, I feel so rude." Will suddenly says, chopping up Weiss's thoughts. "This is Elle Williams, she's an analyst on our task force. Elle, this is Agent Weiss."  
  
"Eric." Weiss states. And he struggles for a moment, to hold both cans at once, holding his hand out for her to shake. And again, there's that smile, while she returns the gesture. It's like she knows just when to speak and not speak, and always to smile like that. He's finding that it's hard to spot something a person would not like about her. And because of that, Weiss has decided he does not like Elle. Does not like her one bit.  
  
"Hi Eric." And her voice is even on cue, as some one would expect her voice to sound. "It's a pleasure to be working with all of you." He wants to scoff. Pleasure? This job is not a pleasure. This job is a stressor, a hazard to one's health. This job is nothing to be happy about each morning, nothing to smile like that about. This job will consume her whole, and maybe that's why he doesn't like Elle. Maybe that's why he doesn't want her on this task force, because she'll end up being a liability. Or maybe it's those eyes that seem to be consuming his mind. "Would you like me to go get that coffee?" She asks. And maybe he doesn't like her willingness to comply - those actions usually leading to that of shady and suspicious. But this girl couldn't double cross a fly, making her the best choice as mole. Or maybe he doesn't like her because he can't think straight anyway.  
  
Weiss shakes the thoughts. He knows that he's going to have to work with this girl. And judging by her presentation hours earlier, she is on top of her game. She's a smart girl, and she's doing a good job. He was even informed that she earlier questioned Sloane - by herself. And Weiss is definitely impressed. "No thanks, I'm good." He answers. Weiss surveys the room for a moment, eyes searching for a familiar pair. "Do either of you know where Michael Vaughn is?" He questions. And both Will and Elle look to one another, before returning eyes to him. The smile is gone.  
  
Maybe what he doesn't like about Elle is that he can picture finding her and Will Tippin slipped away into a closet, hungrily kissing and pulling clothes from one another. Yes, that's what he doesn't like. That is it exactly. Call him jealous, but maybe Weiss has a thing for Will's claim. And as he watches the body language, he wants to tell Will to just piss all around her to get the marking of his territory over with. No. This is going to be a problem. This is not good.

* * *

Simultaneously six heads snap in the direction of the door as it slams shut, Steph just inside, rage burning in her eyes. "You," She growls, her sights set on Sark. And she's slow, picking up one of the infamous daggers Abs loves to throw, walking in his direction. She's always slow when she's dangerous. "You fucked me over." And she's feet away from Sark, still walking in his direction. She twirls the dagger in her right hand, watching it spin, then looking back up into his blue eyes. "You did this." And then she's there, standing right before him. No one is moving or making a single sound. They're all just watching seeing how far she'll take this. "I have half a mind to think you set this up. It wouldn't be the first time you double crossed the people you're working for." A sharp in take of breath and she had the knife to Sark's neck, pressing it to the flesh, reopening the wound the owner of the knife had created earlier.  
  
"Well, Julian, you've double-crossed your own teammates? I must say I'm disappointed in you, just a little." Cole isn't standing, because he knows he shouldn't - not now. Not while Stephania is holding the knife. "But I'm not surprised, young man, just disappointed. Makes the rest of use who have been in the game for as long as we have wonder how you've survived. I would say not on your good looks... but no, that's it, isn't it?" And of course it seems like Cole has known all along - Cole has known all about the playing, and double crossing and shady-ness Sark has been pulling for weeks with this group of people. And he only let it continue, so that Sark would dig his own hole. Maybe.  
  
Steph looks over at Cole angry. "Ya know what McKenas? Not right now. This is _not_ your battle." And she turns to Sark, slowly, pressing the knife harder to his skin, yet not turning it on the blade. Not yet at least. "This one is my battle. And Sark is mine, not yours." And at this point, if Sark were a religious man, he might be praying. But he's not, so he's standing with his lips pressed together, an annoyed headache looming in the left hemisphere of his brain. Damn, he thinks. And he needs some aspirin. He wonders how the woman might react if he were to ask her to continue this exchange later.  
  
Her eyes are burning with rage, and she's pressing her body to his. "You fucked me over, Sark." She glares, wanting so desperately to take her rage out on his sorry self. "You fucked me over!" She leans in with the bold words, pressing the knife to emphasize her meaning. He should have known better. He shouldn't have kissed her or messed with her train of thought. He knew it would trip her up. And she thinks that maybe he planned it. "What is she to you?" Her words are low, burning his flesh. "Tell me!" She yells.  
  
Sark waits as she lightens up on the blade so he can speak. "You care do you? Aiden's right over there you know..." Cole raises an eyebrow. Wrong move. And Steph pulls the knife from his neck completely, swiftly sticking it along his wrist, at the same time as she kicks her leg around pulling his feet out from under him. And suddenly he's on his back, the inner part of his left wrist bleeding from the one-inch laceration right near his thumb, and Steph's stiletto clad foot on his chest. She's been taking tips from Abs, he thinks. And Sark knows that the wound is nothing, but a scratch, just to prove her power. He knows he needs to give something different this time. He knows that if he messes up again things won't be so easy to recover from. "She's nothing to me, but a pawn in our operation," He coughs out, her weight heavy on his chest.  
  
"Il suo guarisce è il luogo nel torto arginato!" Abs, in Italian. She always opts for the language when she's angry. And Sark doesn't speak the language the way he should, though he can tell what she's saying. So, he thinks, maybe her foot is in the wrong place. And Steph has definitely been taking tips from Abs.  
  
The Italian woman's head snaps to the younger woman. "So che faccio, Abigail." Italian is not Steph's native tongue and it amazes Sark that it isn't. She speaks it so beautifully, so naturally. He figures that is what happens when one spends thirteen years with parents where one spoke the language at home, English during their life in the world. And then years after that living _in_ Italy, with grandparents who only spoke Italian. And he mentally translates, _I know what I'm doing, Abigail._  
  
"Ya know, I think I should probably interrupt this about now..." Cole is about to stand.  
  
"Shut the hell up McKenas!" And she throws the knife in the man's direction. He ducks, though it is nowhere near his head. And the knife comes to a halt on the hard marble floor, landing yards from their superior. No, not enough tips from Abs. Abs would have made her mark. And Abs wouldn't have discarded her only weapon.  
  
Abs is outraged. "Lei l'idiota! Lo Stephania, lo scopo, non lancia la sua sola arma!" Steph turns and looks at her with fire growing in her eyes. And the words are just as Sark thought - words on aiming and arming.  
  
"Ha chiudeto l'inferno su! Questo è il mio combattimento!" Steph is angry. It's her battle. Sark seizes his opportunity, grabbing the woman's leg, flipping her to the ground. She lands on her tailbone - hard. And suddenly he's regained control, flipping the woman, wrists behind her back with his knee. And he leans in to her ear, his free hand brushing her face. Now it's his battle. He's not going to take this mutiny, over throw of power, lightly. This is _his_ team, and they had better know it. Sark will not go down with out a fight.  
  
"Again this is where I'm going to step in and interrupt." McKenas is about to stand, and another knife has suddenly been thrown in is direction, landing hard in the wall only inches from him. Abs.  
  
"Let them finish." She growls.  
  
"I seem to get the impression that you all are forgetting my status as your superior." Cole states.  
  
"Care to remind me?" She taunts easily. She can take Cole and they both know it. Hell, every single person in the room, from the two silent partners at the chess board, to the woman pinned to the floor, knows that Abs can take Cole.  
  
"Listen to her McKenas, or your new leader here suffers." Sark pipes in.  
  
And suddenly Aiden is interested. He knows Sark needs no weapon to do as he may to the woman on the floor. He knows Sark can do far more damage with his hands than with a knife or a gun. "Get off of her _now_, Sark," And he's pissed at Abs for saying they should finish. When the hell she became a part of the backbiting he does not wish to know. This is chaos. But Sark knows his pull within the Covenant hierarchy. And the blonde man stands, letting the Italian woman up. Sark knows what Aiden can do - because he's felt the man's wrath tonight.  
  
"She didn't say a goddamn word about Black hole, you bastard. I was off tonight, she now knows my tactics and we're all fucked because of you! We're all fucked because you told me to be careful with her." Steph is laying it out for everyone to know. Steph is throwing Sark's game back at him. "What the fuck is she to you?"  
  
Allison lets a heavy breath leave through her nose. "A game." She states as though she found it in a textbook. "Women are games to him, didn't you know, Steph?" She raises her eyebrows, a pointed look spread across her face. And Sark is ignoring the statement.  
  
"I'll have you know, Ms. Mariani, that the woman in that interrogation room is a highly guarded member of the CIA, and her father will hunt each and every single one of us down if we don't fulfill our end of the bargain. She is here to be our poker hand - our Royal Flush - and if we harm her in anyway, we're done."  
  
"So why the hell kidnap her in the first place Sark if you know her daddy so well, Mr. Lazeray?" Steph again, anger painted in her words.  
  
Cole stands, frustration burning from with in. "No, this is where I interrupt." He states. And he watches the way Abs reaches for the knife in the holster at her ankle. He ducks, rushing over to Sark and Steph, out of her line of death. "She's here because we have all been given orders for her to be here, don't make me explain that part again." He states. "So, right now the bull s stops. Sark, you're done. You will stay here, to fulfill your part in this operation, but you are no longer leading it up. In-" He looks down to his watch, "five hours your new Omega arrives, so until then Steph and myself will head up operations." And he looks at her confused face.  
  
"I suggest you all get to bed." And he feels like he's their father. Damn them and this bull s. "Whose? I don't really care."

* * *

Weiss stops just as he reaches the jail cell. And there's Vaughn, lying on his back on the small bed, hands behind his head. Weiss shakes his head, smiling, taking a breath. "Ya know," He says, and Vaughn's head has snapped up, looking at him. He wonders if that's shame or if maybe Vaughn sees the same humor in the situation. "I always knew we'd be meeting like this eventually." And Weiss shakes his head, again, smiling, trying not to laugh. "With these metal bars between us, of course. But what's funny about this, Mike, is that mental picture had _me_ in jail, drunk, and with something like 'Soy Bomb' painted on my stomach." And now Vaughn is laughing, standing from his prior position. "No really, I've always wanted to streak..."  
  
"Oh God," Vaughn shakes his head walking over. And he stops just on the other side of the bars, smiling, looking down for the moment. "I've been in here for over eight hours." He states. And Weiss is laughing now. They both see it - the humor and irony of Michael Vaughn behind bars. And it's good for them, because otherwise this conversation might be a lot harder than it already is. Otherwise this entire day might be a lot more difficult than it as been.  
  
And suddenly Weiss is silent for a moment, seriousness looming. "So," He stops, and waits, to make sure that Vaughn is listening, in spite of the fact that he already knows he is. "Are you going to tell me what it is that you did to be put in here, or am I going to have to go ask Dixon?" Vaughn nods. He'd rather have this conversation directly with Weiss, as opposed to him hearing the stories about how he 'raged' from the gossip bunnies that run around every office building. And so he stands for the moment, trying to pull his words together, to explain this in the best fashion he can. But he can't.  
  
"I lost it." He states. And the look on Weiss's face is at first serious, and then not so much. "I don't know, I hadn't had any coffee and I was still pretty pissed off about Jack pulling me from the mission. And then when... what happened to Sydney actually happened I instantly blamed Jack, made a scene. And of course then when I was told to go to Dixon's office..." He stops, and he wonders if that's a smile he sees forming on Weiss's face. "I threw everything off his desk. He got pissed, threw my ass in here." Yes it is a smile on Weiss's face. And the man is laughing to himself. "I had to have a talk with Barnett about my 'Jack Bristow Issues'."  
  
"I'll bet she got an ear full." And it's a laugh. A laugh is coming from Weiss right now, while Vaughn is trying to explain what happened to him. An actual, real, laugh. But then there's a laugh coming from Vaughn, because damn it, this is funny.  
  
"Oh she got more than an ear full." Vaughn states, and evil chuckle escaping his mouth. And Weiss raises an eyebrow in his direction, curious to what he means. "Well Lauren came to see me a few hours ago, just before the 'Good Doctor' got in. And," Vaughn pauses, considering his words. He doesn't know how to sound _classy_ explaining the actions. So he opts to sound like a man. "I think she has a thing for bad boys... I've never seen her act that way, practically throwing me down on that bed. And Weiss, her ass was all up in the air when Barnett showed up." And now the laughing isn't discrete. The laughing out right, loud, boisterous, and comfortable.  
  
Weiss shakes his head, smiling. "So when do you get sprung?" He questions, loving using the jail terms.  
  
"That is _exactly_ what Lauren said! Only of course she emphasized the final word in a different way..." Vaughn stops talking, wondering if he's gone too far. And Weiss is still just laughing. No, hasn't gone too far. "I have no idea when I get out of here. When Dixon decides that I've learned my lesson."  
  
"I hardly think groping your wife is a good way to learn your lesson." Weiss answers. And it's like it's always been between these two men; A friendship to last a lifetime. Nothing could ever come between them, because they decided long ago that they weren't going to take anything that didn't need be, to seriously. Unless it's work, it's to be taken with a grain of salt. Their lives are already too dramatic as it is, so why make it worse. "And I assume that I don't have to clean the cheese nips from my couch, Lauren is quite pleased with your recent incarceration?"  
  
Vaughn nods, still laughing and smiling. And maybe for the time being, he's stopped worrying about Sydney. Maybe not. "I feel bad though," He starts. And Weiss sucks in a sharp breath. He doesn't want to have the obligatory conversation about Ms. Bristow just yet. "I had my freak out in front of some little girl." Weiss lets the breath out. No, not conversation just yet. "I forget her name, she's an analyst."  
  
"Elle." And maybe Weiss said that too quickly. He wonders if he sounded eager or disgusted. Of course he was going for both. And Vaughn nods, giving him a 'yeah, I guess'. "I met her just a little bit ago. She's an interesting child." He wonders if Vaughn can still read him the way he used to. He wonders if Vaughn already knows where he stands. "How old is she? 16?"  
  
Vaughn shakes his head, a stern look on his face. "You know how Dr. Barnett feels about mixing business with pleasure." He states in a fatherly tone, dripping in sarcasm. And it was expected that Vaughn could see right through him. He wonders though, if he's that transparent. "So what is she like? I think I heard a grand total of 17 words from the girl before I threw the chair across the room."  
  
Weiss laughs. This is the kind of conversation he's needed all day. It's not that he doesn't like Jack Bristow - he just doesn't like massive amounts of time with Jack Bristow, when Jack Bristow is in one of those _moods_. Weiss actually wondered, on the flight, if his ears might start bleeding from the words. It's not like the old man talked a lot. No, it was just the way he would talk, silent for 20 minutes and then a sudden anger filled outburst. Maybe like Vaughn. "She smiles a lot. Said it was a _pleasure_ to be working on this Task Force."  
  
"She got promoted?" Vaughn questions. And he waits for a moment, thinking. "Wonder if I got demoted." And then there's the looming, uncomfortable silence between the two friends. Time for a serious discussion. "Is there any new news on Sydney?" Weiss shakes his head. And Vaughn nods in response. They both wait, thinking. "Are you saying no because I don't have the clearance to hear a yes?"  
  
And Weiss smiles, reassuringly. "Honestly, if you didn't have the clearance, I think I'd still tell you."

* * *

The parking garage is dark, cold, silent and empty like it always is at Three AM. Not a single soul around. And then there are heels, clicking on cement. Sharp pointed heels, three-inch heels; heels that hold on knee high black boots. And there's a bounce in her step, danger and destruction burning on her eyes like a blazing inferno. She loves this Alias. She loves this red plaid skirt, tight white tank top, black leather spiked cuffs and of course the dark black make up. She loves the punk rock look she's sporting. She loves her blonde hair all teased with red and black highlights. But then again maybe her favorite part of this alias is the black open trench coat that's longer than her skirt. Yeah, that's her favorite part.  
  
And it's funny that she's wearing these clothes. She doesn't even have to use this alias for a few more hours, when she flies to Berlin. But this is her one true pleasure. She is a spy. She is an assassin. She has so many notches next to her name. But she's always a beauty queen. She'll always be a woman, dressing up for fun. Just hours ago she was a security guard. Just hours ago she was dressed in military wear, an arsenal of guns and knives living in her grasp. And damn it, she still feels sore. That stupid bitch and her stupid father were more than she expected.  
  
She works for the newly reformed K Directorate. A few years ago, when she was still training, the K fell, disbanded at the assassination of its leader. And when that happened a few splinter cells formed - which she joined. And just recently the K began to reform, under the instruction of two silent leaders. She was happy to know that she still has a home. Very happy to know that she has an organization to work for. She's now been walking for a while through the parking garage. And she wonders where this damn contact is. She wonders where the person who has the info for her next assignment is waiting for her. She stops for a moment, feeling a chill, wondering if this is an assassination attempt on her. It wouldn't be surprising. But she begins walking again. Bravery burns from within those that are worthy.  
  
"You're nineteen minutes late." She turns, looking in the darkened corner. And suddenly a lighter is ignited, a flame in front of a face, and a cigarette. Female. Darkened, shaded features as the woman takes a long drag of the cigarette, and she's then blowing the smoke out forward, billowing upward. "You don't need me informing your superiors of this tardiness, do you, Mari?" And the blonde woman, Marianske Kafka, is all the way turned to face the woman with the cigarette in the corner. And the other woman steps out into the muted gray lighting, her face all a reveal. But Marianske would never forget that face. And she's just how she remembered her; smooth black skin, full red lips, and eyes that pierce souls. No. A person never ever forgets Anna Espinoza.


	14. Chapter Thirteen, Communiqué of Duplicit...

**Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds**

THIRTEEN –_ Communiqué of Duplicity_

**Rating:** PG/PG-13

**Setting:** LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe, Berlin, Vienna, Mauthausen, Salzburg, Munich, Winterthur, Zurich

**Characters:** Anna Espinoza, Marianske Kafka (Naomi Watts), Marcus Dixon, Jack Bristow, Abs Michaelis (Jessica Alba), Sark, Eric Weiss, Will Tippin, Sydney Bristow, McKenas Cole, Arvin Sloane **Mentioned:** Robin Dixon, Steven Dixon, Michael Vaughn, Matthias Mohrle (undecided), Renee Persson (undecided), Elle Williams (Maggie Gyllenhaal)

**Length:** 7,087 Words

**Note:** Please read the newly updated Title Info (before chapter one). Thanks!

With a flip of the hair, and a flick of the cigarette, Anna speaks. "You have the Intel, right? Or are you going to need another nineteen minutes to go get it?" She asks. And her Russian accent is so pleasing - so enjoyable to hear. She's reprimanding the other woman. She's putting her in her arrogant little place. No one shows up late to see Anna Espinoza. No. One. And Marianske nods, reaching in to the deep pocket on her trench coat. She pulls the black CD jewel case out, opening it to show the disc. And Anna presses her full lips together, taking a deep breath. She snatches the disc from the other woman's hands, slipping it in her own purse.

She turns to retreat, but stops. "Do not show up late again. If I ever have to wait for you ever again, you'll regret it." Her hair flips again. Still angry. And now it's her black heeled boots that are making a popping, not a clicking, sound as she walks away. Black pants and a black leather jacket. Assassin black. And she slips in to her sleek, sexy, black Jaguar. Her prowling little cat that speeds out of the parking garage with a squeal of tires. And it's fast. Fast like the animal it's named for. Her purse is tossed in the passenger seat, her foot pressing the gas to the floor. She uses the button to lower the window, wind rushing in and blowing her hair all about. The night sky fills the car. A smile.

* * *

Two men. Each on different sides of the desk. And the one who sits as though he commands the desk actually does not. And the one, who sits casually in the seat before the desk, is anxiously waiting for words. Two men. One desk. And one conversation looming in silence. 

Jack Bristow looks up, placing the papers down on Marcus Dixon's desk. He takes a deep breath, subtly making sure the papers are perfectly in order with one another. He does this when he's frustrated, and anxious. He tends to let these Obsessive Compulsive Disorders rule his mind when he's trying to think about anything other than the daughter he could not protect. He makes sure all the pictures of Dixon's children are equally spaced, staring for a while at Robin's most recent school portrait. And Jack looks up, meeting his eyes with Dixon's. "Robin is such an amazing young woman." He says this in the tone of voice only a father can find within. Dixon smiles, nodding for a moment.

Marcus takes a deep breath, sitting up a little straighter. "So is Sydney." He replies. And then there's silence as both men let the words and thoughts sink in. Sydney is gone. Sydney is in Covenant custody again. Jack sighs, and Dixon can see the stress plaguing this man. He can see the bags under his eyes and the pain burning from within. He feels for him, knowing the feelings all too well - all too recent.

Jack lets a heavy breath leave his mouth. It's time. Time for these two men in this room, sitting in the seats they don't normally, to talk about Sydney. Or maybe it isn't. Jack knows that right now he only wants to process the information he's just read. This analyst - he knows her name, knows her work - has done a good job. She's thorough when she researches anything, going down all the avenues she needs. She's smart. And judging by her work done in the past, he wonders if she maybe works too hard. It's actually very common for someone of her age and experience to get burnt out quickly. "So now the question at hand, is if we should negotiate or not."

Dixon nods. "We've had this conversation, Jack." And Jack is looking back at the report. "We had this conversation when Robin and Steven were kidnapped. And it was Sydney who pointed out that the last time we tried to negotiate with the Covenant, they killed one of the two hostages." Dixon presses his lips together, waiting for Jack to make eye contact. And he leans forward in the chair. "Sydney is only one hostage. And you know that they will be viewing this as all or nothing."

"The two men that Walker wants released - have you located them?" Jack asks. He's avoiding the thoughts of Sydney. He wants to keep this as business. In fact he needs to keep this as business. Otherwise, he knows that he's going to end up becoming consumed with the every little detail.

"Mohrle is being held in a maximum security prison in Denmark, while Persson is in Australia." Dixon waits for Jack to speak. But the man doesn't. He just sits behind the desk, thinking. And Jack looks up at Dixon, his lips pressed together firm and his face painted with concern, anxiety or frustration. Maybe it's a mixture of all three. And he finally takes a deep breath, appears to be preparing to speak.

He taps the pen on the table for a moment, then suddenly stops. "Where is Sloane?" Jack questions. And this is one of the many topics that Dixon has been sweating. He hates what he did. He hates that he is the man who helped set that son of a bitch free. Dixon stands from the chair, walking over to a bookshelf on the far wall. And Jack knows he's evading the question. Dixon lets he's eyes peruse the titles he knows so well, before he completely freezes upon the sound of Jack's voice. "What?"

Marcus turns, a sigh escaping his body. "Sloane worked out a pardon agreement. He gave us information in exchange for his freedom." The displeased look on the other man's face does not surprise Dixon one bit. He's disappointed in himself right now. "That is the second time I've had to let Arvin Sloane walk out of this building - as a free man. And I promise you right now, that if he is ever so lucky as to grace these offices again, I will have him killed and there WILL be no pardon." Anger. Jack feels it too. And desperation. Feelings that the men share. One man behind the desk he does not own and the other by the book shelf he does own.

"So what is our next move? When is the next meeting?" The words are calm. Maybe. But Dixon knows that Jack can snap. Just like Vaughn.

Vaughn. "Well," Dixon states, slowly. "I want to have a meeting when Sydney makes contact, like Walker promised." He takes a deep breath. "In the mean time, I thought you might want to do the honors of informing Agent Vaughn what is going on."

"What?" Jack looks confused.

"Vaughn is currently being held in a cell." Jack raises an eyebrow at the words. "He lost his temper and I felt it would be in his best interest to have the opportunity to calm down and have a few words with Barnett." And before the man is even done speaking, Jack is up out of the chair, leaving the office.

* * *

The furious black cat rolls to a halt, purring like it should, and she's at a park. It's only been a half an hour - Anna made it from Vienna to Mauthausen in record time. And she leaves the car on as she steps out. Now her heels are clicking on an asphalt path. She holds a brown paper sack, lips pressed together and urgency burning in her every step. She thinks of what's inside the bag, seeing it like the bag its self is transparent. Feet pounding like a heartbeat, and every leg appears like it's crossing over the other. She's nothing but hips and curves as she approaches the bench. There's a bundle of blankets and a coat lying on the bench - a man asleep. She walks past him, ten, twenty, thirty feet, until she reaches the trashcan. Sure, to the average person, she could have placed this bag in the can next to the bench. But no. That would be wrong. 

In the darkness she retreats, back to her Jaguar, speeding away from the park. Awake. The man on the bench sits up, pulling a cell phone from his pocket. No one is around. And he mumbles something in to the cell, before lying back down on the bench, a constant view of the trashcan. Phase Two. A man is walking from the other direction, a bright orange vest over his clothes that says something like 'Park Maintenance' in a Germanic language. He pulls the trash bag from the can Anna just visited, and then walks down the path, past the man on the bench. And now he's leaving, twenty, thirty, forty feet away. The trash bag is open, and he has the brown paper bag in his hand. He dumps the paper bag, the remaining garbage, and his orange vest in a different garbage can. And he's in the silver Mercedes. Fast. Powerful. He drives out of the park, leaving the city.

* * *

She brings the foot long wooden match to her lips and with an efficient quick gust of air from her lungs, blows it out, sending smoke whirling up in front of her. She then surveys the room, noting the candles she's just lit. There are so many, all resting on the windowsill that takes up the entire length of, and is behind the luxurious stand-alone porcelain tub, the window and room feeling like it was fit to match the tub. She leans forward, reaching across the tub, since the faucet is at the side, with the window, as opposed to the standard head or foot of the tub. And she lets her hand barely touch the water - it's to her liking, and shuts the faucet off. 

She then turns from the tub, untying the thin; nearly see through curtains back from each side of the length of the tub. They quickly meet, just on the other side of the tub as the faucet. With the fluorescent lights in the bathroom, she can see right though the curtains into the tub that is full of mounds of white fluffy bubbles and smells of peach bath salt. She then takes a deep breath, and reaches for the light switch. And once the fluorescent bulbs are out, the curtains that were once see through, glow an opaque deep red and brown. She lets the gray blue silk robe slowly slip from her body, but folds it before it ever hits the floor. She takes the garment, placing it on a hook, the hue matching that of Sark's eyes when he is just on the edge of release, glossy, shiny, cloudy.

And she walks, her body bare, and the room dark, to the tub, pulling back the curtains only slightly and for a moment, as she slips in. Her hair is tied up, pulled back, and she lets the warm water wash over her as she lies back into oblivion. Calgon, take me away. She closes her eyes, breathing in the many scents that fill the air. She only buys Gardenia, Magnolia, Vanilla, and Jasmine candles, all cream colored, cylindrical and different heights, and widths. And each scent has a different meaning to her; each scent evokes a different memory in her mind as she breathes them in.

Jasmine reminds her of home - the only home she ever really knew. Jasmine reminds her of New Orleans, slow, sensual, smooth, just like thick blues chords, and soft leathery skinned, weathered and tanned from years in the sun. The smell of Jasmine reminds her of all the women she knew, the old black ladies who would spend days cooking their secret-recipe jambalaya. She used to remember the smell of those women as a young girl, going to buy clothes with her mom at the same small boutique every year for the summer. She used to always ask the woman about the scent, because it would fascinate her.

Vanilla is her mother. Vanilla is soft and warm, like Christmas mornings. Vanilla always makes her think go when she was young - probably 7 years old, sitting on the cold tile floor in the kitchen as her mom would watch the news on the small TV, and brush and fix her hair. She'd always say, "Abigail, you have beautiful hair," in spite of the fact that the poor girl hated the crinkly little corkscrew hairs. Abs is only partially black, but still knows the struggles of nappy hair. And she remembers how her mom would always stand her up, look her over and give her a squirt of the Vanilla mist, saying, "Now you're a lady."

She breathes in again, this time Gardenias. Small white flowers, always picked from the garden and brought into the house when she was younger. Gardenia reminds her of her father, the man that would always over look her as she brought the flowers in. "Dad, these are for your desk," She'd let the smile dance on her face, walking in to her father's office, proud at what she brought. And he'd turn to her, a stressed and busy look on his face. "That's fine, Abigail, can you take them and show your mom?" He'd always ask and she'd always comply. Gardenia is painful, and she only buys these candles to punish herself. She refuses to forget her father, even though he finds it so easy to forget her.

The next smell lingering on her nasal pallet is the Peach bath salt. Peaches remind her of her grandparents - her mother's parents. Peaches remind her of summers spent at the huge plantation home, white colonial columns dating back to the time of forefathers and exhibiting the essence of wealth. And they remind her of running through the grass with her older brother and cousins, bare foot, to the peach orchard, where her grandfather would always be waiting with the ripest of the picking. And they remind her of Fourth of July's with a sticky face, not eating her bar-be-que dinner because she's so full on peaches. And lying on her back in the grass, watching the lightning bugs dance above her eyes, the insects creating their own fireworks.

And she closes her eyes this time, letting the next scent enter her body - Magnolias. Her mind drifts to adolescence, Washington DC and long walks alone. When her brother died, she was sent to live with her father's parents in Washington, because her mother simply could not cope. And they remind her of the long row of trees dressed in the light rouge flowers that were along the side walk on her way to school, going to one of the most prestigious academies in the country - attending classes with the children of elected officials. Magnolias remind her of being alone, and missing her brother. And Magnolias remind her of helplessness, but she won't forget her brother just like she won't forget her father.

And finally there's the new scent - the burning in scent close on the windowsill. The new scent is Sandalwood, reminding her of the man she should probably not want to. Sandalwood is Sark, and India, and heat. Sandalwood reminds her of the first time they met - a small cafe in New Delhi, which smelled of only Sandalwood. He slipped in to the seat across from her. "I'll be working with you, Ms. Michaelis," His words were slow, and his pale white skin stood out in the cafe, hers being a tan color. And he smiled at her, before ordering a green tea. Sark is sandalwood, masculine, enchanting and strong.

Abs feels the way her eyes shoot open at the sound of the bathroom door clicking open. She listens, wondering whom it is that could be coming to see her. Aiden. But she knows different turning her head. She can see him, but he can't see her. Sark. He takes a deep breath, walking into the room, slowly. And he's wearing a black Armani suit now - she wonders why he changed his clothes. "May I have a word?" He questions. And Abs moves the water around, her face turning from his direction to the window. She stares out at the night sky, before she sighs.

"Do I really have a choice?" She questions, rolling her eyes, knowing she can't take the satisfaction in him seeing. And she's angry, she truly is. "Fuck your words, Sark - You never mean them." He knows she's angry. And he takes a deep audible breath and she sighs. "Whatever, Sark, no matter what you're still going to speak, I have no choice in the matter." Sark nods, turning to the door as he shuts it. She hears it click into the frame, and then hears as he clicks the lock. Abs scoffs. "Do you really have to lock the door to have a word with me, Sark?" She asks, turning her face to the window, because even though he can't see her, she doesn't want to see him.

* * *

Salzburg, Austria. And the disc is safely tucked away, the only thing residing, in sleek black suitcase. He changed his clothes. Stopped at a rest top along the way. Black leather - pants and coat. And there's a red shirt too, a pop to the eye. His Mercedes thunders along. Nightlife. He pulls into the parking lot of an ultra-chic, euro-trash dance club. And when he shuts the car off, stepping out, instantly his body begins to fill with the thumping bass. The parking lot is empty, save for the hand full of crack smokers around back. He then enters the club with out reservation, walking through the sea of bumping, grinding bodies. It smells like sweat, mixtures of colognes and perfumes, and the essence of drugs, illegal or not. The men's bathroom. Never a safe place for one to enter alone. Luckily, no one is performing any sex acts. And he enters the first stall, leaving the briefcase. 

Retreat. The bass consumes him. He enters the crowd blending in with the bodies colliding. And she stands out. White. Pure. Honest. Leather. She's an angel, glitter sparkling with perspiration on her face. She's in the men's bathroom, the briefcase now in her hand. Red hair. Crayon red. She's quick, and smooth, slithering through the people like a snake after its prey. The parking lot. The people smoking crack. She walks down the street. 4 AM. And just a few blocks away she enters the large train station, sitting down on one of the wooden benches, legs crossed. A man sits on the bench directly behind her, and she places her briefcase next to that of the man's. An announcement. Munich. And the man behind her stands, taking the briefcase she sat down. And she smiles, picking up the one he left, opening it. Money.

* * *

Weiss sits alone in the small conference room, silence comforting his ears. This is him. Just him. He takes a deep breath, writing his debrief from the most recent mission. And that's just a stupid way to put it. This is the debrief from _the_ mission. The mission that can't be classified as failed, because they did retrieve the desired serum prototype. But in the process they lost probably the most valuable piece of human force the CIA ever acquired. And he feels guilty. He feels like some how he could have prevented it. Maybe if he had been in a different location. Maybe if he had been paying more attention to the surveillance footage. The maybes are mounting. The many maybes. And then there are the 'what if's. He doesn't know if he's going to be sleeping tonight. No. He knows he's not. 

A tapping sound. A knock. And Weiss looks up to see Will standing in the doorway. He holds a bottled iced coffee in one hand, and enters the room with out an invitation. "Thought you might need this." He says, placing it in front of the agent. And Will sits down in the chair across from Weiss, watching as the other man graciously smiles, opening the bottle. "So, Harry, do you need someone to talk to?" Harry Houdini. He's changed it. Instead of the last name he now calls him by the first. He isn't sure why. And Weiss finds it less than amusing. Maybe some other time.

"I think we probably all need someone to talk to." Weiss replies. He then takes a deep breath, putting the pen down. "Thanks for the coffee, by the way."

"Compliments of Elle Williams." Both men then sit in silence. It's weird how he came to talk, and yet they have nothing to say. And so they wait for a moment, because Weiss knows Will has a purpose here. He knows that this man would not be here, unless he had a real reason. He figures it's best to just let him find the words on his own, because otherwise the words might never be said. "So... How about those Lakers?" Will questions. Well. That was anticlimactic.

Weiss frowns. "I don't know, they seem to be doing pretty well. Aren't they in the play-offs?" He asks back. This is just stupid. Certainly there is something more compelling the two of them can be talking about. Isn't there?

Will shrugs. "I have no idea. I was just making conversation." He replies. Silence. Again. Always with the agonizing silence between these two. Especially now. They both want to talk about Sydney. But they both also refuse to talk about Sydney. It's painful to sit in this silence.

"Ya know, it's probably best to make conversation with a topic you can actually converse on." And so maybe Weiss might have to control this conversation. Not maybe. He knows he's going to have to. Ever since Will came back from being in the witness protection program, he's changed. They've tried to talk, tried to catch up on old times, but it always leads to one mentioning something the other knows nothing about. And they've tried to make new things to talk about. That never works either. He takes a drink of the coffee, looking at the bottle, and then places it on the table. "So, what's Elle's story?" Maybe she's something they can have in common.

"Her story?" Will questions in return, confused. "What do you mean her story? She's an analyst and this morning it was discovered that she did a report on the men that Walker mentioned." Will is being like this on purpose, Weiss knows. And Weiss is trying to read the other man's body language. He's trying to discover the unspoken words that Will always displays. It's odd that he can't find any now.

"It seems to be a pretty simple question." Weiss isn't _trying_ to be hostile. But maybe he can't help it. Or maybe he's enjoying it. "Do I need to explain it to you?" He wonders if the other man is starting to feel uncomfortable. Maybe the sudden hand running through his hair. Or maybe it's the way his eyes dart, and then land back on Weiss's face. He shrugs.

Will sighs. "Well I don't really know. I hadn't actually met her - though I had officially met her, or been introduced - until today." That seems kind of pathetic, Weiss thinks. If it had been him, he would have introduced himself on day one. And the girl has this great personality. She's just so inviting. How could Will have _not_ gotten to know her.

"You're her superior and you didn't meet her until today?" He waits for a moment. "What the hell have you been doing for the past month?" Silence. Again.

* * *

His body moves back and forth, slightly, with the move of the train. He's in his forties, sitting in the small train car, wearing a tan trench coat. His legs are crossed, and an Italian man sits before him. Ten Minutes. Fifteen Minutes. He stands, taking his briefcase with him, and exits the car, leaving his newspaper. He then walks down the narrow hall, to the dining car. He sits down at a table alone - third table in, sitting in the seat on the aisle, closest to the door he entered - and waits for the attendant. Coffee. No sugar. One cream. He drinks the hot liquid, opening the briefcase. And he then takes the disc out, sliding it under the white tablecloth. He then stands, leaving a few dollars, and walks back to his car. 

She puts her black hair up in a French twist, taking the money from the table. She then reaches beneath the tablecloth, putting the disc in her apron. Munich. The train stops, and she's out, fast, changing from the work clothes as she walks. A taxi. She uses the money left in the dining car to pay. While on the drive she turns the jacket she's wearing inside out, a logo on the side, and slips a black ball cap on. And she arrives at the Deutsche- Einmal Bucht Publishing Company. She walks in through the front, appearing as a worker, to the loading dock, where the boxes are being packed. She finds the one she needs - a specific children's book, and places the disc on top. And she then tapes it shut, walking to the train headed into Switzerland. She speaks to the driver, before she places the box on the back. And he then leaves, knowing nothing.

* * *

Sark can hear her moving in the water, and he can only imagine how she looks as he scans the gorgeous bathroom. It's narrow; the toilet housed in its own little room near his end. The door is on the parallel wall with the window. There's one wall, the one to his right that has nothing on it, and yet the wall to his left contains the sink and counter, the mirror, and of course the door to the toilet. He turns to the corner for a moment, and picks up the chair, carrying it to a spot probably four feet from the tub; he sits, letting a breath leave through his nose. "Yes?" Abs prompts, and Sark figures he'd better speak. 

Sark looks down at one of his sleeves for a moment, making sure his French cuff is perfect. "I suppose, this is where we have the requisite discussion about where this is going." He knows she's mad because even though he can't see her, he already can tell that she's snapped her neck in his direction and is now shooting him a death filled glare. This is where things get tough, because he knows that he's already upset her today.

She exhales heavily, but doesn't sigh. "Julian, I know where this is going, so maybe you should simply shut the f up, and leave this room." She doesn't hesitate, but for a moment, as she continues to speak. "This place, this organization and this team is littered with your exes, your soon-to-be exes and of course our future conquests. I can see how you'll react to the new woman to arrive in a matter of hours." Abs scoffs, an evil low laughter filling the air. "So as I said, we don't need to have this _discussion_, Julian, I know where I become a means to an end for you."

He takes a deep breath, trying to decide what his next move should be, because above all, life with Abs is a game. He presses his lips together, breathing through his nose now. And he smells it, the scent he knows so well. He smiles; drifting back to the hot sun and the first time his eyes met hers - wild and fiery. He murmurs, softly, "Sandalwood and green tea." His words are barely audible, but he knows she's heard them, because he hears the water move only slightly. "You were wearing a black tank top and your hair was long, cascading over your tanned shoulders." Sark closes his eyes only slightly; "You kept bumping your knee with mine at the small cafe table. And you-"

"Please don't sit and try to remind me of the day we started this." He can feel her sharp painful stabbing glare on his body even though he can't see it. "It won't save you this time."

Sark is as quick in response - just as quick as her. "I wasn't aware I needed saving, Abigail."

There's a splash in the water, and she's frustrated. "Oh fucking Christ, Sark! See that right there is what I cannot stand" Her pointed words are only expected. "Your massive superiority complex is really beginning to wear on my last damn nerve, so if you are just here to reminisce on how good you stuck it to me. Leave. Now." And her icy words seem like they could put out every flame in the room, especially the one within him.

His mind is analyzing everything. And it annoys him to know that she is now trying to control the words and the tone of this conversation, taking them from casualties to formalities. "This is who I am." His words are almost vulnerable.

And she is speaking before he can add, leaving his mouth slightly parted. "No, Sark, this isn't who you are, it's who you pretend to be."

He runs his hand through his short hair, wishing he had something to grip and pull. "Damn it Abs, stop analyzing what is _not_ there." His words are stern.

"Then why the hell are you in here if not to talk?" Her words are a low growl, angry. And she leaves a tense pause, both holding bated breath. The anger is seeping through the air, into their skin, taking control over their thoughts. The quiet peace, tranquility and warm water, she had is now gone, because it left the room he opened the door. And a sigh cuts the air, her sigh. The breath leaves her, like her hope, and her faith and her peaceful tranquility have all left her. "Sark, you want things easy, in black and white with out anyone hanging on, and I can't give you easy. You won't change and I won't change because there's a gray area I see and you don't. So damn it, let's just fucking let this go, already." She sighs again after her last strained words, and he knows that this is the last thing she truly wants to say.

He waits a moment, knowing the words he's going to say. "I'm in here, Abs. I wouldn't be in here if I wanted to let things go, and you wouldn't be letting me stay if you wanted to let things go." He says, his words on point, sharp and prepared.

"Personally, I prefer not to hit a man when he has been knocked down - I prefer to do the knocking down." She waits one moment to make him hear the next part. "Sark, you got knocked down today." Her words a dry, and meant to sting.

Sark eyes the tub, wishing he could see her face, and squints, making out her silhouette only slightly. "Are you saying you want me to leave?"

* * *

Winterthur, Switzerland. The truck with the words Deutsche- Einmal Bucht written in bold blue lettering on the side slowly comes to a halt outside of a small bookstore. Ancient wooden doors and evergreen paneling. So vaguely reassuring in its unobtrusiveness. No one would think... A man opens the door, waiting as the driver carries the heavy cardboard boxes inside. It's cold, puffs of warm air coming from each of the men, visual in the dark morning air. Five boxes. The first is a children's book - A revised version of the _Bremen Town Musicians_. All of the boxes are placed in the back, stacked so very neatly, and quickly the driver returns to his truck, continuing on his route. 4:30 AM. Oblivious. 

It's a ripping noise. Loud and heavy in the air as he pulls back the brown packing tape. The first box is only full of the books it says, and so he continues on to the next. He's a middle aged man, very German features, searching through the second box. And then the third. Finally, upon opening the fourth box he finds the disc, and hurries to open the back door. Red pointy heels, a pair of tight jeans, and a red pea coat all buttoned up. She smiles, long blonde bangs sweeping across her face and to the side. He shows her the disc. No words. And she shows him a backpack in return. He takes the bag, opening it, viewing the endless supply of unmarked bills. And a smile. He hands her the disc and she is quick to slip in to her Black Porsche, speeding away from the bookstore.

* * *

Slowly her eyes slip, or maybe blink open. And the light slips in to her body. She aches. Pain throbbing. She sits up and looks around - the same room as before. It's the one she fought Sark in. The one she woke up in before. And her mind slowly slips back, remembering what happened earlier. She remembers the fight with Sark. And she remembers how he stitched her arm. She reaches over, feeling that arm again. There's a bandage on it - just like before. But this time she feels more pain, and she remembers. She remembers the woman who made her think of her mom. She remembers how the heels clicked on the floor and how the woman wouldn't stay still. She remembers how she was constantly up and down from the stool to across the room, creating an air of mystery every time she stepped out of the low hanging light and in to the dark shadows. 

Sydney remembers how she asked her about Black hole. And she remembers how the woman continually ripped the stitches from her arm. She stops for the moment, feeling the wound beneath it. She wonders if there are more now. She knows that the woman tore more flesh, and so she wonders if she repaired more. She reaches for the adhesive, slowly pealing it back. "You'll only get infected that way, ya know." She looks up. McKenas Cole. He stands in the doorway, before he walks in, shutting the door behind him. A smile is spread across his place, as usual. And it's always that same smile. That whole crazy psychotic smile. He's carrying a small stack of folded clothes. And Sydney eyes the way he watches her, crossing the room. He places the stack of clothes on the bed, a pair of red sneakers with socks stuffed in them on the top. "Word has it Sark promised you clothes."

"He did." Sydney replies. She looks at the clothing, sifting through the items presented before her. A pair of jeans, and a gray 'Mickey Mouse' T-shirt. She looks up, eyeing him. But she doesn't question the shirt, knowing he'll be fast with a quip about pigtails. Always with the pigtails. She shrugs, looking back up. And he there's a small black box sitting on the table by the door. She wonders what it is. Chooses not to question, not yet, knowing she's going to find out soon enough. She takes a deep breath, pressing her lips together. It's like the moment is frozen, eyes testing boundaries and limits, exploring thoughts and secrets. "Can I have a little privacy?" She asks, looking back down at the stack of clothes.

"Here, answer this question first." He says, that same wild-eyed psychotic smile painted across his features. "Can you be trusted?" The words cut through the silence. They both know the answer. Sydney wants to be deceptive and belligerent. She wants to give him a bold faced 'yes', see how he reacts. "Pig tails, the answer is no." He states. She sighs, looking back down up at the clothes. And then she lets her eyes travel back up to his face, waiting to see what he'll say next. "Of course you can't be trusted! You stabbed Simon Walker in the car on the way over!" Cole shakes his head, a scowl dressed on his features. "You impress me."

Sydney has a sarcastic look on her face. A glare. "Oh." She states, standing. "Good to know I've impressed _you_. My life was so empty before." And she stops, standing and staring at him. And then raises her eyebrows, expectant. "Well can you at least turn around?" She asks. Cole shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders and holding his hands up, so as to say there's nothing he can do. Sydney groans, rolling her eyes. This is one of those things that she really hates about what she has opted to do for a living. She hates moments like this, where she has to be in close proximity with men like McKenas Cole. She turns, facing the stack of clothes sitting on the bed. She sighs, feeling as his hands rub the back of her neck, slowly pulling the zipper down her back. She mumbles a 'Thank you'.

She hates that she chose not to wear a bra with this dress. But then again she didn't expect to be kidnapped by the Covenant. Again. She didn't expect to have to change her clothes in front of McKenas Cole. She didn't expect any of this. And the black dress drops to the floor, falling to a pile on the floor. She hates that she feels him lifting it up of the ground, after she's kicked it back. She hears as he folds it up, and she first reaches for the jeans, slipping them on over the black underwear - the only piece of clothing she's wearing. And she then reaches for the T-shirt. The symbol of innocence and childishness. The way Cole views her. She takes the shirt, slipping it inside out, and then pulling it on, over her head. Stupid fucking McKenas Cole.

She turns back to face him, and he frowns at the lack of Disney character on her chest. He sighs. She sits down, reaching for the sneakers, and suddenly he's shaking his head, holding his hand up. "Oh, no need, Pig tails." He states, reaching for the shoes. He places them on the floor next to the bed. "You can go ahead and leave those off, since you're going to sleep." She watches as he begins to reach for the box. But Sydney sees it as her opportunity. She's instantly up off the bed, rushing the door, reaching for the handle. But this is the second time that Cole's speed has surprised her, because he has his hand wrapped around her waist, throwing her back toward the bed. And immediately he's there, the box in hand, holding Sydney down.

The escape attempt was futile. She knew it would be. He was standing _in between_ her and the door. There was no way. She only did this, so that she could not later regret not making the attempt. She promised herself, the second Simon took her captive, that no escape attempt would go undone. She would not let herself, her father, or her country down that way. She can hear as the box opens, Sydney lying on her side on the bed. And Cole is straddling her legs, holding her upper body down, her chest facing the bed, with his left hand planted firm on her back. He moves the shirt away slightly, and tugs downward on her pants just so much, before she feels the sharp stinging pain of a needle. A syringe. And injection in the back of her left hip. Instantly Sydney feels drowsy, the tranquilizers entering her blood stream, and working that fast.

"Sleep well, pig tails." Cole stands, getting up off of the woman and taking a few steps back. Sydney doesn't move, taking a deep breath, before she feels her eyelids get heavy. He watches as she moves her body, slightly, adjusting to the bed. "You're only going to be out for a few hours... probably." And he then exits the room, pleased in his own accomplishments, locking the door before him. Sydney's eyes shoot open, and she looks around the room, trying to take one last survey of everything, before her body gives in to the tranquilizer pumping through her body. These people will pay.

* * *

5:30 AM. Zurich, Switzerland. She steps out of the black Porsche, long blonde hair now replaced with dark black locks, a cute flipped out hair do around her jaw line. Morning. And she stands in the cement jungle of the large downtown business district of the city. She takes a deep breath, letting it out like a heavy sigh as she waits. The morning is brisk. The air is cold on her cheeks, stinging them with red tones and hues. The red pea coat is gone, replaced by a white fur-lined parka. She sees him approaching, walking fast in her direction. And she's only been out for maybe fifteen minutes, but now there are many people walking past her. The morning is early. And she starts walking in his direction, a not so fast - not so slow pace. 

Her eyes glare only slightly, maybe from the cold air, as her hand extends slowly, holding the black jewel case covered disc. The drop - made by hand. And the man is walking, slipping the CD into his black coat pocket. He enters the large business building, signing in for work as the mail-boy. He walks at a quickened pace, picking up the mail to be delivered and reaches the elevator. He takes it up to the 10th floor, stepping out just after the ding. He says a few things to the woman at the desk, and she smiles, sending him into the office. And he walks in, his feet clicking on the hard wood floor. He approaches the desk, placing the stack of mail, as well as the disc just underneath, and then exits. On his way out he stops at the front desk, once more, speaking with the secretary. "So when do you think Mr. Sloane will be back in?"

She smiles. "Later this afternoon." He nods, mentioning a thank-you, leaving the Omni-Fam offices, heading back to the elevator.


	15. Chapter Fourteen, Counterfeit Assurance

**Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds**

FOURTEEN –_ Counterfeit Assurance_

**Rating:** PG/PG-13

**Setting:** LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe, Air Space over the Atlantic, Zurich

**Characters:** Arvin Sloane, Sark, Abs Michaelis (Jessica Alba), Michael Vaughn, Jack Bristow, Aiden Ivanov (Hugh Dancy or James Franco), Steph Mariani (Eliza Dushku) mentioned Sydney Bristow

**Length:** 3,333 Words

He hates commercial jets. They're always so damn cold and uncomfortable. But he is now a humanitarian. He is devoting his life to that of others. And in being a humanitarian, he has to spend some time with the people. Okay, so he knows that is a bunch of bullshit. He was held by the United States Government and hardly given the opportunity to prepare a private jet, upon his departure. He slips his glasses off as he accepts the tumbler of Vodka and Cranberry juice from the flight attendant. Well at least he's in first class.

Arvin Sloane is the new head of the K-Directorate. The only catch is that no one knows this - not even the members of KD, save for a hand full of high-ranking officials. He is what most might call a 'Silent Leader'. Practically every decision made by K Directorate goes through Sloane, and yet no one knows that these decisions go through him. He pulls the cell phone from his pocket, thrilled to be able to wear suits and ties again. Wingtips are a Godsend, especially considering that he's had to spend the last week in a blue/gray jump suit and a pair of tennis shoes with out socks. Anymore of that and he might have actually begged to be executed.

He dials a number on his black cell phone, waiting for an answer. Only one ring - good for her. He takes a comfortable breath. "Hello Mr. Sloane." Her voice is sweet. He loves his secretary. So naive and content in being such. She never asks questions - never tries to get anything out of him. She's just the kind of person he needs working for him.

"Hi, Ekaterina. I just wanted to call you and let you know that I will not be in the office this afternoon." Sloane stirs the small straw in his drink, then takes a sip of it. Ahh, how he loves this drink. And he feels so wonderfully relaxed - like after hours of meditation. "Have I received any packages today?"

"Yes sir." She sounds kind of eager, Sloane thinks. But shrugs it off. No, Ekaterina would never ask what it is; she's probably just a little excited that it came. "You received a disc this morning with your mail." The disc. He smiles. The disc he's been waiting for. Finally.

"Thank you." And he hangs his phone up.

* * *

"I'm saying, Sark, that I would prefer we not play these games." Abs sighs, hating this constant power play for control. The bathroom. The tub. And the conversation. Sark wonders why he came in. She's so frustrating, and at the same time so is he. And his question - his _are you saying you want me to leave?_ Such a cheap shot. Such a dishonest way to go about things.

He exhales, "Not everything I say has a double meaning, Abs."

"And the things you _do_?" She questions. "What do _they_ mean?" She moves the water around. "See, the sex is just sex to you and the work is just work. But what I need to know, is where the hell I fall in." He knows exactly what he wants to say to her.

He falters, a halt, because he does not know the answer. Or maybe he does. And he, for a moment, wonders if this is how Aiden makes her feel. He wonders if this sudden turn inward, to see what he can find, is what Aiden does with Abs, and why she turns to him. "I didn't expect-"

"bullshit!" She cuts in, anger ablaze in her words. "We both know your MO, so grant me the respect to not sit here and lie to me." _Not here_ she thinks in their private moment together. Their private moment together... That is complete crap. This is her moment - her private moment alone with her thoughts. And he came in, busted up all of her thoughts, like he always does. That ass.

And he wonders if his honesty in general is what she's looking for. "You're the first one to ask, did you know that?" He questions, indignantly. She wants so badly to climb out of this tub and smack the smug smile that she can't possibly see right now off of his stupid face.

He knows she's rolling her eyes, because he knows her actions that well. "Well, lucky me, Sark. I want an answer." He hates that he knows her actions.

He sighs. "I don't know. I didn't think you'd get like this."

"Like what?" A snap. And a waited beat while he scowls, frustrated. He stands.

"Wait." He exhales. "Don't, Abs... Just let me speak." And he waits a moment. Nothing. "I didn't think you'd get like _this_, I didn't think you'd get to be someone who made me actually struggle to answer a question like this. With all the other ones - the ones who didn't question - they already knew the answer, and so did I. The answer was that they were sex, and they were work, and I could cut them out, if need be. They were expendable." And maybe he's pleading, because why, he does not know.

He watches as the curtain is swiftly pulled back so that she can see him. And she's sitting up, covering her upper body only slightly with the black washcloth, while the mounds of white bubbles do the rest. "No. That is just a bunch of s, Sark, and you know it." The anger he knows so well. She's glaring at him. "You fucking tell me right now if I'm expendable. Then we'll know where we stand and you can go on your merry little way spreading cheer through out this damned team, okay?" Sarcasm. Angry sarcasm, and she has a pointed glare in his direction. She will not back down that easy.

"You're so fucking needy, Abigail," he seethes, because she is making him analyze his choices - all the decisions that he makes. He is questioning his own worth and he feels she is partially to blame for his dethroning. Her emotions have distracted him, and oh how he should truly hate her for this.

"Leave." She shuts the curtains to the tub. "I'm not joking here Sark. And this isn't some opportunity for you to go and win me back. I want you to leave." She listens, intently. And she hears as he turns, feet pounding on the floor. The door in unlocked, and he opens it, shutting it behind him. He's gone. Abs exhales heavily, leaning back in the tub. When did it all get like this? Why has everything become so complicated and damn emotional? Stupid Sark.

* * *

Vaughn looks up as the man approaches. Jack Bristow. He knew he was going to have to have this encounter eventually. But maybe he was hoping deep down inside that it might not happen. Oh who is even trying to kid here? Jack stops in front of the cell, looking at Vaughn who gets up from the bed. He crosses to the bars. They are face to face. The tension is so palpable, so thick. Vaughn thinks it might just suffocate him. "So," He listens as Jack begins to speak. He knows this man is enjoying this very moment. God how he's enjoying it. Vaughn presses his lips together and then takes a deep breath. He has to brace himself for this, he's sure of it. "So Dixon and I talked; He told me what happened. But I was thinking that maybe you could give me your version of the events." A smile is spreading across Jack's face, but it quickly leaves, replaced with the normal frowning glare.

"You're only doing this to humiliate me." Vaughn responds. And now Jack does smile. Smug bastard.

"Yes, I am, Agent Vaughn," he answers, raising an expectant eyebrow to the man. "So I figure you can grace me with that gift, can't you? I would like to see you humiliate yourself, since you decided to throw my name around in your temper tantrum this morning." He knows that Jack is pissed. He knows that Jack knows everything and he knows that Jack is not going to let him ever forget this moment. Maybe Vaughn has screwed up one too many times. Damn.

"Isn't my being here punishment enough?" Vaughn is quick with the rebuttal. And Jack let's a chuckle leave his lips. He likes this far too much, maybe. Vaughn should be on his hands and knees apologizing and begging for forgiveness. Well he would be doing that if he knew what was good for him. And instead he stands as though he has done nothing wrong, and as though he's in no way at fault.

Jack shakes his head, then parts his lips to speak, thinking at the same time. Though he's not really trying to think of something to say, he has the words pre-planned in his brain. No, he's just giving Vaughn the illusion of consideration toward his question. Jack has waited for a moment like this for a while and he sure as hell is not going to waste it. "No, Vaughn, you're being here is not enough."

"Yeah, I lost my tempter, Jack. I don't want to get into this right now. I'm sorry." The apology is fake. They both know this very well. He sounds so childish right about now. Jack wonders if Vaughn knows that he's here to unlock his cell. He probably doesn't and he'll most likely end up digging a hole for himself. That's what Jack likes about Vaughn. He's a constant form of entertainment. "I want to know what you know about what happened to Sydney. Do you have anything new that you can tell me? Like it or not, Jack, she means as much to me as she does to you."

"No." Jack replies quickly. "We have no new information about Sydney." He sure as hell is not going to acknowledge Vaughn's last statement. He in no way is going to give this man any satisfaction. This wait is so agonizing. All they want is the one small phone call to have an idea of what the Covenant really wants. And Lord knows the wait is the worst part. "We're still waiting for that."

Vaughn reaches up and rubs his eyes. He takes a deep breath, nodding. And he turns, walking away from Jack. This is so stressful. They all have faith that Sydney has the strength of body and mind to make it through yet another ordeal like this. But still they feel helpless, and to have Sydney go through this kind of thing again is just completely pathetic. And God why is it always Sydney? Why is it always about Sydney and taking her away from the people she loves? If only things had been different for the girl.

"Vaughn, I'm here to let you out." Jack states, pulling a set of keys from his pocket. And it's then that Vaughn first notices the fact that there wasn't a guard walking with him upon his arrival. He wonders if this is typical illegal Jack protocol. He hopes it isn't. That's really the last thing he needs at the moment. The door to the jail cell opens with a screeching noise - metal rubbing against metal. Vaughn figures that the CIA does that on purpose - that they add little nuances like that to make a person go insane. Vaughn has noticed them all. The one that really has started to bother him is the fact that the floor isn't level. That could easily drive him to a rampage. Or maybe not.

The next thing Vaughn knows, he's pushed up against the bars, Jack's face only inches from his. "Yes, don't ask me about it, I'm threatening you." His words are a growl. "Now listen to me Michael - you question my authority and my decisions concerning my daughter one more time and I will make sure that you never accompany her on any kind of field work again. And that will only be the beginning of what I do. Do you understand, Agent Vaughn?" His words are so low. And Vaughn wonders if maybe he's just hallucinating the entire exchange. No. Of course he isn't. This is Jack Bristow. Threats are normal. Vaughn nods, Jack lets up and takes a step back. "Good." His voice is much louder now. "You need to get back to work." Jack steps out of the jail cell, and Vaughn gathers up his things, following through the door and catching up with the man.

* * *

His eyes are shut. He hears her every hushed step as she mills about the bedroom, looking for something to do. And Aiden wishes that she would just settle in. But instead Steph looks, continues to look, for something. He wants to open his eyes and either helps her find whatever it is she's looking for, or give her something to do. He knows she doesn't like to sleep after a botched interrogation. Not that she doesn't like to, actually, but more that she doesn't want to. And she's probably looking for some sort of proper substitute for a Yoga mat right now, so that she can sit out on the balcony and find her balance. In this house it won't happen. And he continues to just lay there with his eyes closed, fully clothed on his back, sprawled on the bed because he's pretending to be asleep. It's been a few minutes, and so revealing his consciousness right now might just be rude.

The door to the bedroom opens, and for a moment Aiden thinks that Steph is leaving. No. Sark's voice. "I would like to have a word with you." And it's muffled, he figures because he's still standing in the doorway, and because Steph is probably standing right at the door, talking to him. Aiden opens his eyes and sits up, watching as Sark enters the room. And the blonde man stops when he sees Aiden. They both look at one another and then to Steph to see what she's going to do or say. She turns to Aiden, giving him a pleading look and he quickly stands, walking out of the room. So this is how things are going to be, now that Steph is in charge. It's so very like Sark to suddenly swoop in on whoever is in charge.

Aiden shuts the door behind him, and Sark turns to Steph, who is now sitting on the chair. "Well?" She questions, expectantly. Sark sighs, walking over and sitting on the end of the bed. It's soft, comfortable. He thinks he could just spread out, lie down and finally give in to the nagging exhaustion he's been feeling for the past few hours. Stupid sleep. He wishes he didn't mean it.

He looks up at Steph, and smiles. "Well, first of all, I would like to apologize for earlier." Steph is not naive. She knows exactly what he is doing. She knows that he doesn't have a single sincere bone in his body. And yet at the same time, she is very thankful to hear an apology from his man. Apologies from Sark do not come often, if at all. She has something he wants. She has power.

"Thank you," she says in reply. Sark nods for a moment, waiting and considering his next words. He doesn't normally do this. He doesn't normally have to be the dog and try to get on someone's good side. People normally have to do that to him.

Sark stands and crosses the room, walking over to her. He stands before the woman wondering what tactic he should take. First of all he could threaten her, make sure that the decisions she's making have to go through him. But this is Stephania - the only woman to ever earn his respect through his own interrogation. No. He can't threaten her. "I have a proposition for you."

* * *

Abs looks up hearing the door to the bathroom open again. "Fuck you Sark, just leave." She growls. But the door shuts, and the person walks across the room, sitting in the chair. "Sark?" She pulls back the curtain to find Aiden sitting in the chair, a smile on his face. 

"Wow." His words are soft. And she knows it's not in response to how she looks. "You must be really mad at yourself right about now." She knows exactly what he means and lets the curtain slowly fall shut. Aiden always knows exactly how she feels. He sits in the chair, comfortably, taking a deep breath. "Why are you punishing yourself, Abs?" The candles. He knows she's summoning memories for some reason, and at the same time wonders why. What is it that plagues her so much that she needs to feel the horribly painful memories of a neglected childhood?

"What are you talking about?" She asks in response. He doesn't say anything, waits for her to speak. God, as much as she appreciates Aiden, she doesn't want to go through this right now. "I don't know... I just felt like taking a bath." She doesn't even believe those words. But she doesn't want to talk about this. She doesn't want to talk about the fact that she is making herself remember everything about her past - every painful moment. "Why are you in here?" She asks.

Aiden lets out an audible breath sitting up straighter and reaching forward. He lets his fingers rub the fabric to the curtain, feeling the soft threads on his flesh. "Sark is probably trying to get Steph to go into some kind of silent alliance with her." Aiden responds. "He came in and asked to 'have a word', so I left." This time the audible breath leaves her mouth. Aiden hears it and waits a moment to see if she's up for explaining it. "So, I take it you were just talking to Sark?"

"Yeah I was." She says in response. "I threw him out."

Aiden smiles. "Good for you."

* * *

Simon watches from where he sits on the bed, as Allison gets off the phone, closing the chrome colored piece of technology and slipping it into her pocket. "Alright." Her words are soft, she sits in the chair. "That was Anna, she just got word that the disc was delivered successfully." Allison explains. Simon nods, waiting a few moments before he speaks. 

"When are we going to know who the hell we're working for?" He asks. Simon has always been angry with this. He's always been hostile about the fact that they don't know who is leading up the organization he's putting his life on the line for. Allison, not as much. She seems to be okay with double-crossing the Covenant, and at the same time, okay with not knowing whom she's double crossing them for.

She pulls her hair out of her face, into a high ponytail before she gets back to writing on the pad of paper she's been using. "You know it's better that we don't know anything - that way we have nothing to tell anyone." She states. Simon nods, always relentless in his pursuit to discover who is leading this organization. He leans back against the pillows and closes his eyes. "Don't worry about it." He nods, starting to drift into slumber. Allison smiles, and continues to write down the Intel she has acquired so far about this Covenant operation. She's set to make a hand off some time soon. And when she's finished, she places it in a locked briefcase, and then places that underneath the bed.

Simon is still awake, and holds his arms out as she slips her pants off and climbs into the bed. She sighs, resting her head in this man's neck. He rubs her arm and she slips into a soft slumber right along with him.


	16. Chapter Fifteen, Simulated Desire

**Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds**

FIFTEEN –_ Simulated Desire_

**Rating:** PG/PG-13

**Setting:** LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe, Berlin

**Characters:** Michael Vaughn, Jack Bristow, Sark, Sydney Bristow, Elle Williams (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Marcus Dixon, Will Tippin, Eric Weiss, Lauren Reed, Marshall Flinkman, Arvin Sloane, McKenas Cole, Christine Esperanza (Mila Jovovich) **mentioned** Simon Walker

**Length:** 2,810 Words

The two men walk at the same pace through the halls, feet hitting the cement floor at the exact same time. Vaughn slips his suit jacket on, trying to rid himself of the wrinkles plaguing his outfit. He takes a deep breath standing a few feet away as Jack exchanges a few words with the guard. He hands him his keys and then turns back to Vaughn - the cue to continue their walk back to Dixon's office. "Ya know, Jack," Jack holds his hand up, pulling the cell phone from his pocket.

He presses the power button on the black phone, and then brings it to his ear. "Agent Bristow." He says, Vaughn watches expectantly, and suddenly Jack stops moving.

"Hello Jack, so good to hear from you." Sark. The British voice is so very disturbing. Jack doesn't want to hear it - not now. All he wants to hear right now is the voice of his daughter. And this phone call. He's actually relieved to be getting it.

"Put my daughter on the phone." Jack's words are sudden, and at the same time cold. Vaughn looks up, eyes getting wide. The two men stand in the hallway, not a single person around.

Jack hears as Sark pours something into a glass. A drink. How utterly arrogant of this child to act as though his capture of his daughter is nothing. Or is something that he can simply have a drink over. Jack takes a deep, angry breath - the kind that Vaughn is very aware means he's mentally planning this man's demise. "Well it seems as though your daughter can't come to the phone right now - she's currently sleeping because an associate of mine gave her a dose of tranquilizers. Don't worry though, she'll be just fine."

"First of all, I don't need you telling me my daughter is going to be okay - I know she is." Jack growls. "We had a deal, Mr. Sark, that she would make contact."

He can hear as Sark takes a long drink, and then scoffs slightly. "Well, I guess I have to remind you that I did not make that statement, Mr. Walker did." There is a moment of silence. Sark loves having conversations with Jack Bristow. He's the only one who knows how to keep up. "You do remember your encounter with the man, right? I wouldn't pin you as being senile just yet, although in your later years you're seeming to get sloppy - I mean considering the fact that Simon Walker is still alive." Sark is smiling on his end of this phone conversation. "Or was it your intent to let the man live?"

"I don't care to discuss my intent on the death of Simon Walker." Jack responds. "However if you would like to continue stalling before telling me when I will talk to my daughter, I wouldn't mind having a conversation about my intent in your death." He waits for a few moments for Sark to speak. And in the mean time he can hear a person moving around in the background - wondering whom it might be.

There's a slight click as Sark lets his tongue leave the roof of his mouth after another long sip of the drink. "Well to discuss your daughter first - truly one of my favorite topics by far - she will be making contact tomorrow morning, your time. Yes we've decided to be generous." Sark knows he has to at least moderately comply with the wishes of the CIA. He knows he has to act as though he's being cooperative - because this mission is not about harming Sydney Bristow. This mission is about exploiting Jack Bristow, and the CIA's weaknesses and getting what they want. "And now as far as my death, Jack, I wouldn't think so highly of myself if I were you." Sark goes to continue speaking, but hears the click as Jack has hung the phone up. He shakes his head, and looks at Steph. She shrugs.

-------

His lips are soft on hers. He moves them ever so slightly, caressing her mouth. She rubs her hand up the side of Sark's face, letting her fingers pet his short hair. Sark. His tongue in her mouth, running along the back of her teeth and the roof of her mouth. Chills. Chills start at the back of her mouth, and then travel through her spine to her pelvis. She shuts her eyes tight, feeling as he runs his fingers through her long brown hair. Sark. Always Sark running through her mind, and letting his fingers travel up her bare arm.

Sydney is well aware that she's dreaming. She knows that the scenes playing across her mind are all fake - that of her subconscious But she can't help but be shocked by them. And at the same time she realizes she hates Sark. She hates McKenas Cole. She hates the covenant and the crap that they're doing to her, constantly. She hates that she's been given these drugs, and that she can't wake up. Damn them all.

And she hates these dreams. She hates Sark's hands on her body and Sark's lips on hers. She hates that in her dreams she likes it. No. In her dreams she loves it. She loves the feeling of Sark slipping her shirt up over her head, a hand caressing her breast. She hates that she doesn't want him to stop, and that she loves it when he keeps going. Damn Sark.

Sydney knows she needs to do something, within her unconscious mind, to start thinking about something else. It's always useless when she has these dreams. She doesn't know _why_ she has dreams about Sark. And she doesn't trust Dr. Barnett - never has. So she'll never ever mention these to the woman, in spite of the fact that she's dying to know why she's having them. Sark is her enemy. She would love to kill this man - more than she would love to kill anyone else. God, to actually see that man die would be pure bliss. To actually know that the bullet from her Kimber Custom II into the back of his head is what ended his life would be the release she's been hoping for since she laid eyes on him.

So instead, because she hasn't been able to kill him, her body has resorted to fantasies about him. These dreams are pretty regular. And they always end one of two ways. The first of the two ways is her favorite. These dreams end with her using him, getting what she needs from his body and then turning right around and killing him. The blood that sprays up from his body where she's severed his major arteries and spreads across her face is always her favorite part. These dreams are the best, because she has taken control of the helplessness she always feels as Sark enters her body in the dreams.

Then there are the dreams that end bad. The dreams that end with Sark using her body - taking what he needs or wants. The dreams that end with them both panting, humid breath on similarly scared skin are the worst. In the end she's always lying with him in bed, feeling content. Ha. She scoffs at that. She could never feel content with this sick excuse of a man. She could never feel content with him.

The dream is continuing, as it always does. He's pulling on her jeans, letting his hand rub her inner thigh. All she wants is to wake up, but she knows she can't. And she hopes that this time she can kill him. She hopes that this time she can escape the way he tortures her unconscious mind, and defeat him. She hopes that in this dream she'll get to see his blood.

-------

Her brown hair falls into her face as she sits at the table, writing on a pad of paper. She brushes it out of her eyes, tucking it safely behind her ear. She hates this table - it feels so uncomfortable to sit at it, in a small room separate from the rest of the people working on this case. Elle looks up for a moment, thinking and idly holding the pen in her mouth. She is currently writing a list of things she has the intention of asking her contact. A sigh escapes her lips as she writes a few more words, trying to think of more questions.

Elle is frustrated, maybe even stressing out. This job is a lot more intense than she ever expected it to be. She slips her glasses off and sets them on the table, rubbing her eyes. And she sits there for a moment, thinking, idly drawing a small picture in the corner of the paper. "You look really nice without your glasses." Instantly she looks up, and then slips her glasses back on to see Will standing in the doorway. Does he always just linger around like this? Doesn't he have a job to do?

"What, and I look hideous with them?" She questions, a sarcastic smile spread across her face. Will shrugs and walks in. She quickly tears the paper from the note pad and begins to fold it. Will raises his eyebrows and she smiles weakly. "It's a list of things I want to research." She's lying to him. She's blatantly lying to this man, and he has no idea. But she doesn't need him double checking her questions right now. She doesn't need him telling her what she shouldn't ask and what she should. He doesn't know her contact - and she's had this man as a contact for longer than she's had Will as a boss. Some things are better simply kept as secrets.

"Well Dixon is calling an impromptu meeting in his office right now." Will states. Elle nods, standing, slipping the paper into her pocket. She joins him in the hallway, and the two then walk to Dixon's office, joining some of the other members of the current task force. Once inside Will looks around doing a mental body count: Vaughn, Lauren, Weiss, Dixon, himself and Elle. Where is Jack?

"Jack is currently trying to have a phone call he received on his cell phone traced." Dixon states, before anyone even has the opportunity to question it. "I'm sending you all home right now." He continues. "We received a call from Sark, which informed Jack that Sydney will be making contact tomorrow morning to discuss the Covenant's demands. So I am now sending you all home, because tomorrow morning will be a very busy one."

------

Marshall types at the keys on the computer trying to see if he can at all trace the phone call. "The signal was bounced off a lot of different satellites." He explains. Jack nods. "Ya see, it's like umm, you know how there are those fun houses at umm Carnivals, ya know? With the hall of mirrors and you're like 'Oh my, wow... look at all of me.' Carrie and I were thinking about taking Mitchell to one of those, ya know, and so we tested it out in the bathroom by holding him up and having a few other mirrors... he cried a lot."

"Yes Marshall?" Jack states. And the younger man then knows that he needs to keep with the cell phone. He knows when Jack has reached his limit - it's usually a lot quicker than others.

Marshall looks up suddenly, a frown on his face. "Tracing software usually doesn't work as well when the line is disconnected - I can only trace it back so far... But see I've set your phone up with this device now, that will allow us to trace any incoming call, okay?" He hates that he's let the man down. And he takes his cell phone back from Marshall, shutting it off and slipping it into his pocket. "We'll, ya know... get her back." Marshall states. Jack nods. And suddenly his cell phone rings again. He pulls it from his pocket. Immediately Marshall presses a few keys on the computer, and Jack turns the phone on.

"Hello?"

"Jack." Sloane. Jack takes a deep breath listening, wondering just how good Marshall's software is.

"Jack I just heard what happened through a contact of mine," Sloane pauses in between his words. And Jack watches as the trace narrows down the search to Europe. "I can't express my feelings of sorrow enough."

Jack wants to scoff at this man. He wants to tell him how much of a liar he is. But he won't, not now. That will definitely come later. "And what did your contact say happened?"

"He said that Sydney was kidnapped by a few rogue members of the Covenant." Jack can hear the words; wants so badly to rip that man's heart out, and he sees the trace narrow down to Germany. Jack raises a curious eyebrow - does Marshall's technology actually work or not? "Jack, I have to tell you that I vow to do anything within my power to help save Sydney."

He's lying. Jack _knows_ he's lying. This man is always lying. Why would he not be lying now? Sure he'd probably do anything to help save Sydney - but of course Sydney would just have to fall into some sick Rambaldi puzzle he's been trying to piece together. It's always like this with Sloane. Always. "I can assure you that the CIA is doing everything in its power - your power will probably not be needed."

Jack continues to watch the computer as it narrows down to Berlin, and then to a specific block - finally landing at a nightclub. Jack looks to Marshall who shrugs. "Well I'll let you get back to that." Sloane then hangs the phone up, and Jack turns to Marshall, flipping his cell phone off.

"I... don't know what is wrong with this..." He trails for a moment, pressing the keys. He continues for a few moments, eyes flashing across the screen. "I'll see if I can work out the bug..." He looks back up to find that Jack is gone.

------

Cole is waiting outside as her car approaches the property. And there are no words at all as he enters the codes into the keypad next to the gate, and then slips into the black BMW. She looks at him from behind her dark sunglasses - the sun beginning to come up. And they go through each gate, progressing toward the large house. Still no words, even as she parks her car inside the garage, and they both get out, entering the house.

The light, accenting her body, just makes her all the more beautiful. Curly red hair that rests on her shoulders, beautiful green eyes. And her skin is tanned - features expressing more of her Spanish heritage. Argentinean. "You're early." His words are soft, carrying the suitcase up the stairs, walking just behind her. She wears a dangerously cut tight black dress that is just long enough in only the right places. The neckline plunges toward her breasts, cutting in between them and revealing her tanned cleavage.

"Yes well, I wasn't in Argentina when you called - I was in London." Her voice has a rich Spanish ring to it, and yet at the same time threatens with a Gaelic tone. They ascend two flights of stairs and then begin walking down a hall. Her sharp black heels pound on the marble floor. And he can't seem to take his eyes off of the bare skin on her back. Christine. She's young. She's dangerous. She's everything he's ever wanted.

"You can use the room second on the right if you need to relax." He states. And she turns to look back at him, pointing to a door. He nods, and she opens the door, stepping inside. This is his room - the room _he_ has been staying in. She turns to him and accepts her suitcase - always the demanding type. "I'll tell everyone of your arrival." She nods.

"Thank you." Words little expressed. She waits a moment, wondering why he's still standing there. And then he leans in, letting his lips press to the side of her face - her cheek but closer to her lips. This kiss means more to him than to her - she's certain of it. And a part of her wants to punch him suddenly - somewhere between his jaw and his brow - enough to make his brain slow down fast enough to draw a knife and gut him. That would be fun. But no. She can't do it - not to Cole. She steps back into the bedroom and shuts the door.


	17. Chapter Sixteen, A New Foe A New Face

**Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds**

SIXTEEN –_ A New Foe, A New Face_

**Rating:** PG/PG-13

**Setting:** LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe

**Characters:** Will Tippin, Elle Williams (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Aiden Ivanov (James Franco or Hugh Dancy), Abs Michaelis (Jessica Alba), Sark, Eric Weiss, Moonbeam (Drew Barrymore), Lisa Owen (Gretchen Mol), Allison Doren, Steph Mariani (Eliza Dushku), Christine Esperanza (Mila Jovovich), McKenas Cole, Michael Vaughn, Lauren Reed mentioned Sydney Bristow

Length: 6,556 Words

He unlocks the door to his apartment. And he then reaches into his suit jacket; drawing the gun he always keeps in his holster (which he opts not to wear _at_ work), and then opens the door. He uses his left hand to reach in and flip the light switch, and then he enters the apartment slowly with his weapon drawn. He does this every single time he comes home, because he is living _as_ Will Tippin. He is using his real name. And in spite of the fact that deep down he knows no one will be waiting inside, ready to kill him, he can't help but be concerned. Will has lived a hard life, and the bottom line is that it has had a major affect on him. Once inside he locks the door behind him, and proceeds to search through every single room. God, he thinks to himself as he enters the kitchen, placing his gun on the counter, this is just pathetic.

He takes his suit jacket off, shoulder holster as well, and walks to the refrigerator. He pulls a Heineken from the case, and then searches through a drawer for a moment for the bottle opener. And he opens the freezer, taking a long drink of his beer, trying to decide which frozen TV dinner to make - Yankee Pot Roast or Chicken and mashed potatoes? Neither look at all appetizing, he shuts the freezer and just stands in the kitchen for a moment, leaning against his kitchen counter. With a sigh he reaches for the black cordless phone, and reaches in to a different drawer, pulling out the small stack of order-out menus. He thinks for a moment, trying to decide between pizza and this new seafood place. Who is he kidding? He's a bachelor in his early thirties. Pizza it is. He dials the number, taking another drink of his beer, and waits for an answer.

"Umm, hello, can I get a..." He thinks for a moment, trying to decide what sounds good. "A medium three topping pizza?" He waits while the person on the other end speaks, telling him about specials. And he rolls his eyes. "No, the medium three topping will be just fine." A pause as the man asks what he wants on it. "Pepperoni, sausage-" He stops, waits a beat, thinking. "No, scratch the sausage. Just make it pepperoni, green peppers and-" Another beat. "Okay and sausage. Pepperoni, green peppers and sausage." _I'm so weak_, Will thinks to himself about the diet he's been trying to implement. He then tells the man his address, and gets off the phone, hanging it up. He walks into the living room and sits down on the couch, searching for the television remote. A smile as he remembers how Sydney used to yell at him about how he would constantly lose it.

His apartment isn't exactly furnished as well as it should be, or could be. He's been back in LA for only a couple of months, and has yet to decorate a damn thing. Not that decorating was really his thing anyway. But he's kept the walls bare, the whole decor to a minimum, a sort of 'only the necessities' thing. He looks over at the end table, spotting the remote control and reaches over, stretching out as he grabs it. He's about to turn the television on when he hears his cell phone ringing. Instantly he's up off of the tan suede couch, literally jumping over the back of it, and runs to the bar between the kitchen and living room that the phone sits on. "Hello?" He asks, just after turning it on.

"Will?" It's an unfamiliar voice. Or then again maybe it isn't. "I mean, Mr. Tippin." Elle. He finds himself smiling, and maybe his heart is beating a little faster as he walks back around the couch and sits down. He shrugs off the heart rate, grabbing the remote control, saying it had to do with his sudden burst of cardiovascular energy.

"Hi Elle." He states in response. He turns the TV on, flipping through the channels, trying to decide on something to watch. He thinks for a moment that he should sound like he's... smart. He turns the TV to Fox News and lets the volume get a little louder. Maybe she can hear. "What's up?"

There's a pause on her end, and he sits up, turning the volume back down. Instantly his mind starts racing, thinking of all the reasons why she could be calling. Maybe she's discovered something. Maybe she's found something out. Maybe something has happened to her. He stops breathing for a moment at the last thought, not knowing where it came from. And he shrugs it off, hoping she hasn't sensed a change in him. "I need to ask you something." Why are his palms sweating?

"Yeah, what's that?" And Will hates that he suddenly feels like he's in high school again, trying to talk to some girl.

"Well, I normally wouldn't do this... but considering that I've been put on this new task force and what not," She hesitates. He listens intently. "I just - I just need to maybe ask you if it's alright that I set up a meeting with a contact of mine."

Will can feel the frown threatening to spread on his lips. No. He's her superior still, and she's just calling about work. A deep breath, and he starts channel surfing once more. _Law & Order_. He lets the breath out slowly, and then prepares to speak. "Umm, yeah that's fine Elle." He nods reassuringly, knowing that she can't see him.

"That is... great." He pictures her smile. There's an awkward pause between the two of them on the line. And he wonders what exactly this is going to turn into. He can hear her take a deep breath. "So, what are your plans for this evening?" She questions. He can hear as a fork makes a slight clicking noise in her mouth. She's eating. And he smiles at the casualties.

"Well, I haven't exactly found anything interesting to watch on TV yet, but my pizza is due in-" He checks his watch. "Fifteen minutes."

"Oh pizza sounds so good right now! I'm just eating some left over Chinese take out from the other night... I kinda wonder how old it is actually. Thinking about it is actually making me a little sick to my stomach." Will laughs in response to her words. And she doesn't. "No, Will, actually I think this might be bad..." He loves that she's making him smile. He can hear as her sink is running. "I am so putting this in the garbage disposal right now."

Will hesitates a moment, trying to of how to word this next statement. "Well this might be a little forward of me, but you're welcome to come over here and have some pizza - Lord knows I don't need to eat a whole pizza."

"What's on it?" She asks. She's sincere and actually considering this. Immediately Will is up, rushing around his apartment and picking up the random pieces of clothing and other cluttered messes. On top of not decorating, he hasn't really cleaned either. Yes, that's right. He hasn't cleaned since he moved in, save for the occasional making a pile of something, or washing his clothes that don't go to the dry cleaner when they're beginning to _really_ need it.

"Umm," Will walks to his bedroom, noting the complete disarray of blankets on his bed. God, he's such a slob. "Green peppers, pepperoni and sausage." He opens his closet door and starts tossing things in his dirty-clothes hamper. A silent groan as he realizes he probably has three times the amount of clothes on the floor, than will actually fit _in_ the hamper. He feels like he's in a cartoon as he's hurriedly cleaning things up.

"Hrmm." He can almost hear as she's wrinkling her nose. He loves how she makes the 'hmm' noise with an 'r' sound in it. He can picture as she moistens her lips, probably idly wrapping some stray strands of hair around her finger. "Can I get a rain-check?" She asks. Will drops his clothes to the floor at the same rate as his jaw drops from his mouth.

Will takes a deep breath, nodding, again knowing that she can't see him. "Yeah... sure." His words are slow. He doesn't want to sound like he's disappointed, but on the other hand he is. Maybe if she _does_ know that he's upset she'll change her mind... No. Will doesn't want pity. Sydney suddenly springs to mind. No. He definitely does not want pity. Warsaw. And it all lead to nothing - to him going back to Wisconsin and her going back to pining after Vaughn, as always. A sigh. He curses himself for letting her hear it.

"All right, well... I'll see you tomorrow morning, Will." Elle's words are soft. He knows she heard his sigh. He hangs his phone up, and just sits there, on his couch, thinking.

* * *

He has an altogether different scent from any other in her candles or memories. He is mint. Mint and tobacco. A smile - and the curtain around this bathtub has been open for the past fifteen minutes or so. She relaxes into their comfortable familiarity, soothing over her frayed nerves like slow honey. The sweetest balm for her bittersweet and salt-filled aching wounds. Sark. She doesn't want to think about the man, not now. Abs blows a few bubbles off her hand in his direction, headed toward his face, playfully. And he pretends to recoil in mock horror. The bubbles fall through the air gently, missing him by inches as the land on the tiled floor. The both look down. Silence. And a deep breath. She looks up first, awaiting his gaze, and then smiles into his soft chocolate eyes. Breathing, and hearts beating. 

He watches, his breath catching in his throat as she turns from facing him, so that she's sitting facing her out stretched legs. And she slides down, scooting along the bottom of the tub until her knees surface and her entire head submerges, wetting her long brown hair. And when she brings her head back out of the water, she reaches behind and pulls the ponytail out of her hair. He suddenly has to re-wet the inside of his mouth as he watches her, letting his hand linger on the edge of the tub. Suddenly her hand is on his, a smile, and their eyes meet. "I'm getting out - I'm all pruney." And a laugh. His. Her weird slang still amuses him. She used that word - pruney - the first time they worked together. Alone together. He does not particularly like prunes - he likes her.

Instantly Aiden is up out of the chair, reaching for the soft light sea-foam green towel that sits on the counter. He hears her stand in the water, but does not look. Aiden opens the towel, holding it out as a wall between the two of them. And she slowly turns toward him in the tub, he steps back as she steps out, his eyes never wavering from hers. Hazel light glowing in candles flickering their heady scents around them. If he were someone different, he would have already stolen a glance, or six, by now. But he isn't someone else, and his arms encircle her body as she draws into the towel's dry green embrace. He stills. There. With her breath heating the small spot on his chest. She looks up, and he ties the towel into a Gordian knot. Self control. Self-control.

Abs smiles, wet hair framing her face into an image of latent innocence, her nose nudging his. And she breathes heavily. Forget control. His lips brush hers, his decision alone. And maybe one of the best he thinks he's ever made, and maybe hers. Lips pressing close together. But he pulls away, just as she does, the fibers of sparks lighting across smooth skin. They both know that this isn't what should be going on right now. Not. Yet. And he wonders if he should pull his arms away. She won't let him. Her hand is cupping his cheek and his eyes show pleasant surprise. "Thank you." Not so much a whisper, but soft just the same. They slip through the bathroom door, a smooth stop, and no sign of faltering as they see Sark, just coming in the door, his arrogant demeanor pleased. Until he sees them.

"I thought I told you to leave?" She murmurs coolly, "and weren't you with Steph anyhow?" She ignores Aiden's hand clenching at her waist. No. She wants this argument. She wants this fight with Sark, so she can get it over and done with. She turns to the man at her side and gives him a soft and at the same time warn-ful look. Aiden resists the urge to smile and anger Sark more. But he cannot resist leaning in and kissing Abs on the forehead. Sark watches the way her stance completely relaxes, losing the tensed feel she always has with him, and accepts the tiny gesture. Her eyes close only briefly before she smiles at Aiden's departing figure.

"Did you have him in the tub then?" He asks as the door clicks shut and her stance is tense again, her eyes slanting slightly downward. She knows exactly what Sark is implying, and truly does not appreciate this. The bastard.

She looks back up at him, a glare painted across her face, so perfectly planned and beautifully executed like a classic Monet. "For someone of your supposedly superior capabilities, you should have made the observation that his clothes are indeed still on, Sark." A smirk. A smirk not coming from him, but directed at him. "And dry," She adds, dripping everything with sarcasm. "Jealousy doesn't become you, Sark." She taunts so cattily, and he wonders when she was like this with him, power exuding from her body, naked as she is under a sea green towel. The Abs he knows would... he is not even sure anymore.

Instantly he pulls back from his thoughts, the residue of a happy feeling washed away in the wake of her wet angry body dripping before him. "And whoring certainly does not become you," he retorts. This time the smirk is on his face and directed at her. As it always should, he thinks.

She begins to squeeze the water out of her hair. A trickling laugh as she looks at him. "I am not the whore between the two of us, Sark," she muses softly, only a warning. He clenches his jaw to keep from reacting. Control. It is always about control.

"The problem with you, Abigail, is that you never stop thinking," A sarcastic tone, trying to match her.

"The problem with _you_ Julian," She says the name, covering it in disdain and hatred. "Daahhhhhhrling," A mockery of his British accent, because she knows that calling him Julian is only minor when it comes to insulting the man. She executes the tone so perfectly. "Is that you are never satisfied." She mocks him airily, flipping her hair over shoulder in one fluid motion. Water. The water splatters on his Armani suit, darker spots on an already dark material. And she, at least this stays the same, looks at this with willful approval at the brilliant insult. "I guess I just ruined, yet another, of your suits," she says so clearly, with no hint of an apology. He never gets one. He never _deserves_ one.

To say that Sark is displeased would be so much of an understatement. A beat. "Yes, and it will be the last," he mutters as he uses a handkerchief to blot the material. He pauses yet again, waits to see her reaction; tears, shock, anger, anything at all. And she simply stares forward, her mouth curved upward.

"Then I get the car, it's only fair." Is she playing with him? Is she trying to continue with this charade and take him to bed? He can only imagine, and at the same time is quite certain that she is doing so. Her audacity surprises him, even though she does not notice it from the way his eyes blink only momentarily before the mask shifts right back into place.

He smiles. "Only if I get your dagger collection," he replies smoothly, "darling." And he tucks the handkerchief away.

She's smiling back, because this is always so very tactical - always such a damn power play and a game between them. "Oh touché, touché. A proper hit there! Do you imagine this hurts...Sark?" She tilts her head to the side, raising her eyebrows in a display of arrogance only he could conjure.

"I imagine a lot of things, love. Your pain is certainly on the list," he mocks deridingly of her emotional scenes. He detests them so. And he realizes that maybe she is in control. He reaches forward, a fake pout on his lips, and brushes some of the hair out of her eyes. A flash and his head is turned to the right side from her quicksilver slap, leaving a hot bright red stinging mark on his pale face. He turns back slowly. "And I imagine you think I deserved that."

A glare. Lips pressed together and eyes dark. "I imagine, that it does not matter either way because you are incapable of feeling anything." She raises her eyebrows at him, her mouth open slightly. And she then shuts it again, brushing past the man and heading toward the closet. She turns, glancing back over her shoulder at him. He's watching her. It's just like him to watch her. "And to answer your previous assessment: No Sark, you deserve much worse."

He watches as the towel slips down only slightly, and she catches it, looking through her clothes. She's taunting and teasing him. And she finally lets the cloth slip all the way to the floor, for she does not care that he sees. She knows there is nothing he could do. He has been banished and is no longer allowed to call her Abigail, no longer allowed to touch her. And it's the slope of her neck, the vertebrae he has kissed in reverence that catches his eye. They were always so kind in bed. The slip of a gray silk nightgown over her head, and maybe a moment of regret. She turns her eyes, flashing angrily. No. No regret. Sark takes a deep breath, and walks to the doors to exit the room.

* * *

Eric Weiss wants to die. He wants to be put out of his misery. First of all he does not want to be here - in this gaudy restaurant. But of course he promised his mother last week that 'no matter what', he wouldn't make an excuse to not see the girl her friend wanted to set up him up with. That's the first problem. He couldn't exactly call his mom up and say 'an agent was kidnapped on the mission I was just on, Ma. I don't much feel like going out.' No. He couldn't do that. Not to his Jewish mother. She probably wouldn't ever stop guilting him. Eric was raised in a Jewish household, so he is well aware of the way a Jewish mother acts. But, he doesn't much care of his faith either way, because in the world of espionage what one believes as far as the spiritual world comes quite secondary.

Now, the other reason he wants to die, and be put out of his misery is the very woman sitting across from him. The woman that his mother's friend thought it would be rather beneficial to set him up with. Why? Why would those women ever think that he would _want_ to be set up with this kind of earth muffin sitting across from him? Muffin is _not_ a term of endearment in this situation. Not at all. He watches as she nibbles on a carrot, reminding him unpleasantly of an obnoxious cartoon rabbit that used to bother him so much growing up. How he wants to be Elmer Fudd. How he so desperately wants to finally kill that damn rabbit. Weiss is not quite so lucky. She's speaking again.

"And all of the cosmos are so out of balance right now," she sighs, her eyes looking so heavy, as though the world rests on her shoulders. Right. "That is why America will always have someone like Daniel P. Ellis and his entire staff in the white house! People are wrecking their eternal karma on these bumbling idiots! Daniel Ellis will ruin this country." Ok. Breathe. Weiss stares at her, raises his eyebrows as she continues to speak and he tunes her out. Do not panic. Do not get angry. Weiss is a Republican - though with the approval President Ellis has, it wouldn't matter. Ellis is former CIA. Weiss knows he is a smart man. And this girl probably doesn't even know _how_ this government works. Listen lady, this country was not built on flowers and Yoga instructors. This country was built on blood, sweat and tears. He thinks he sounds cliché... but damn it, it's the truth. If she only knew a single ounce of the patriotism he possesses and the things he sees... No. He wouldn't want to wreck her whole system of ideals.

Wait. Yes he does. It's his mother that's stopping him. And Weiss is a Mama's boy, through and through. If only he could come up with a way, or an excuse to leave this God-forsaken table, dinner date. Maybe he can call his own cell phone. Does he have his pager in his pocket too? Maybe a different tactic. "Umm, Moonbeam, you've got a little... carrot gunk in your teeth..." She looks up, and rubs her teeth, then smiles. The girl continues to nibble, dressed in a light colored peasant top, dark brown hair cascading over her shoulders. He wonders when she last washed it. And he can't believe she actually wore sandals in this restaurant. Sometimes...his mother. God how he feels over dressed in a suit and tie.

"I'm going to..." He trails for a moment, watching the way she looks up. She continually looks enchanted, and he wonders what drugs are doing it. "I'm going to go get a drink at the bar, is that okay?"

She looks up at him, pulling her legs up to her chest in the seat. He can't believe he thought the girl he met at work today was flaky. He takes it back. He takes it all back. "I am not in control of your bodily vessel." What the hell does that even mean?

"So, I'm going to take that as a yes..." Weiss trails, standing from the table. He places his napkin next to his plane and quickly retreats, glad that the bar is behind a half wall, plants obscuring the line of vision. He needs a drink - something to take his mind off of this horrible date. "Can I get a Long Island iced tea?" He asks. So maybe it's not too hard, but just the same. He sits at the bar, reaching up and rubbing his eyes.

"Eric?" He turns, quickly at the sound of the female voice. And his eyes meet with semi-familiar pale green eyes with light gold flecks. He smiles.

"Lisa!" He stands, watching as the woman approaches. And they quickly embrace. She takes a step back, "Sit down." She slips into the seat next to him, a smile spread across her face. And she moves some of her wildly curly shoulder length blonde hair away from her face. It's sort of a dark golden blonde with accents of light platinum blonde. And she wears red heels, white pants and a red halter-top. She has wire framed glasses, that he knows she doesn't need, remembering a conversation they had a few weeks prior.

Lisa. Lisa is a woman who he met through Sydney. Actually, Lisa went to college with Sydney and Will. She moved away after college, got married and started a career as an ER nurse. And three years later, she was divorced, living back in LA, working as the nurse for a family practice doctor. And yes, she did go to medical school with Danny. She ran into Sydney the week following the encounter in Warsaw with Will. Ever since then she and Sydney have been good friends, getting to know one another again. She's talked to Weiss quite a few times actually, when he has come over to Sydney's apartment randomly. And he knows that Sydney has been considering hooking her up with Will, especially since they used to have classes together. "So, why are you here?" She asks, taking a slow sip on her Cosmopolitan.

"Well," Weiss starts, and he looks over his shoulder back at the table he was sitting it. She's still there. "See that girl alone at that table in the middle - the one who looks like she came in off the street?" He questions. And Lisa swiftly moves, her blonde hair shifting around. She stands up off of the bar stool to try to see. She's only about five feet six inches when she doesn't have her heels on. She moves her head around trying to see between the plants and people. Weiss smiles when she finally does see the girl. She turns back, eyes raised, and sits on the chair.

A swift sip of her drink again and she's comfortable. "Yes," she answers. Weiss nods, and he accepts his drink from the bar tender, quickly paying the man. "What about her?"

"Her name is 'Moonbeam' - though I was told her name is Colleen, she believes that this country would be better if we all had gotten our eternal karma's to vote for Ralph Nader two years ago, she only eats carrots and she didn't wear real shoes in here." He pauses. Lisa watches with a raised eyebrow. Weiss sighs. "My mom's friend set her up on a date with me."

Lisa looks down, then back up, a brilliant white smile spread across her face. "Oh, Eric... I am so sorry." But she can't help but laugh. In fact she's not hiding it at all. Weiss nods, feeling the laughter burning within him and joins her. And then he stops, they both stop. There's a kind of awkward silence and pause. She sips her drink, then places the glass on the counter. Weiss just thinks. "So," a deep breath from her right after the word. "So I was supposed to have a 'girl's night out' with a hand full of my friends. But Diana decided she'd rather spend the evening with a boy. Mia got sick, and Sydney... I haven't been able to get in touch with Sydney."

Weiss knows his heart is beating faster than usual. "She got hung up at work, actually - said she tried to call you." He hates lying to anyone. But sometimes he knows he has to. He knows he has to lie to Lisa, because otherwise she'd never understand what the truth really is.

"Well, no that's fine. Anyway so I was supposed to go out with them and instead here I am... alone." She shrugs her shoulders. "It's not good to drink alone."

Weiss smiles at her. "I'm here with you, so it's not alone."

"Don't you have your... date?" She slowly questions. Weiss quickly turns, the same rate as Lisa, and they both idly watch the woman eat the carrots.

"I have this feeling she forgot we were even on a date."

* * *

Three sets of female eyes - piercing female eyes - look up and fall upon the person entering the room. No. It isn't Sark they're sending these Catty glares at, for once. All lips pressed together in not so impressed smirks. Sark lets his eyes land on these women and finds it hard to decipher them. There's Allison - his friend. Abigail - his enemy? And Steph - his partner, maybe. She hasn't exactly given him an answer yet. He sits in a chair in the corner, Aiden feet from him. That's a dynamic right there, he thinks. Himself and Aiden - two man who are so similar and so different. God how they hate and at the same time understand one another. Histories and pasts mending and melding together. Sark knows his story and Aiden knows Sark's.

His eyes land on Simon Walker who sits further way from the two men, the wooden crutches he's been using resting on the wall behind him. They're in a different room this time - one they have yet to use. This is the _nice_ living room. This is the room with extravagant high ceilings, expensive furniture, beautiful crystal chandeliers. He likes the room. And he continues to watch Simon. He hasn't figured Mr. Walker out yet. Why is he here on this operation? Of course there is the matter of Sydney Bristow vs. Julia Thorne. But, for some reason Sark doesn't think that's what it's about. He has a feeling that it's something else. Of course Simon will say it's revenge against Jack Bristow - of course. But maybe it isn't. He figures he'll need to keep his eye out for that man.

He doesn't take the time to pick apart Cole's reasoning for being here. He already knows those reasons. And his eyes land, slowly, on the woman who has just entered the room. "Ahh, the elusive Celestine Carmen Esperanza Rosalyn Diego Fernandez." Sark stands, walking over to the woman. And there are unanimous scoffs coming from the direction of the three women. Sark smiles at Christine, his blue eyes piercing her green ones. He reaches down and kisses the top of her hand and she raises an eye brow, waiting for him to stand up straight.

"The elusive Mr. Sark," her words are slow, and she simply smiles at him. "The stories I have heard..." She trails for a moment, and withdraws her hand from his grasp. And her face goes from a smile to a stern glare. "Diega."

"What?" Sark asks, confused.

"Celestine Carmen Esperanza Rosalyn _Diega_ Fernandez." Her words are pronounced perfectly with the roll of the tongue and the seductive anticipation between sounds. "I am a woman - Diega not Diego." She waits for a moment, watching Sark nod in response. And she takes a breath, bored, red lips parted slightly. She moves some of her red hair away from her face, then holds her hand back up to Sark. "Sit back down," She moves her hand slightly, shoo-ing him away. "I don't need your drooling on me." A smile spreads across Allison's face. Maybe Christine is not all that bad. Sark retreats and sits down, continuing to stare at this woman. "Which one of you is..." she trails for a moment, conjuring the name, "Stephania?"

Steph quickly stands and walks over, heels clicking on the floor loudly. And she's taller than the red head, a figure that can steal the attention from Christine to herself. "Steph," she states. And Christine nods, slowly. "I guess we're going to be working together."

"I guess," Christine's response is given with a smile. And Steph nods, the same fake gesture spread across her lips. "Alright, I'm going to go back to my room - I need you to meet with me within the next few minutes, promptly to tell me what happened at this interrogation."

"Well I can tell you now-" Steph stops at the sight of Christine's palm.

"No, you can't tell me now," she turns and exits leaving the room and heading down the hall. Steph turns back to the two women sitting on the couch. Abs gives a little scoff, and she sits back down between them, all with their legs crossed.

Whispers start between the three women, Aiden smiles. "What the hell is with her damn hair?" The first jab is from Abs, who has pulled her newly dried long brown hair up into a messy bun. She wears all black now - pants and a tank top.

"Ehh, probably has some Irish in her, but I guarantee she dyes it." Steph whispers back. The second jab. She shakes her head, a smile on Allison's face. "She's probably a damn mutt though."

Allison laughs. Abs' eyes widen quickly. "Steph! I'm a mutt!" She scoffs in response. Aiden loves how these three women can turn into children so quickly.

And the scoff is a slight hissing noise from Allison's mouth. "Yeah but you wear it well." Aiden feels his cell phone vibrating in his pocket and frowns as he stands, pulling it from his pants. Damn it. He doesn't want to leave this display of childishness. How entertaining these three women can be. And he hits the talk button, exiting the room, mumbling a hello. A smile. His mom.

* * *

His heart is beating faster than normal. He loves this. He loves racing his wife home from work, taking different routes, to see who can get back to the apartment faster. "Son of a bitch!" He curses loudly when he gets into traffic. He closes his eyes as his car comes to a slow crawl. No. He can't let her win - even though she will. And he sits there, waiting, rubbing his eyes. He can't believe it has actually been twenty minutes when he finally gets through the traffic. He wonders for a moment if Lauren planned this - she was the one to suggest they race. She was the one to tell him the route to go home... Maybe she's waiting for him back at their apartment right now. A smile spreads across his face, because he doesn't think he can wait any longer. 

Home. Finally. He shuts the black Chrysler off, getting out and heading up the walkway to the front of the condo. He pulls for his keys, but is suddenly greeted as the door opens and he finds Lauren standing there in a black dress. A smile is spread across her red lips; her hair is down, resting on her shoulders in a seductive manner. And Vaughn doesn't hesitate to lean in, letting his lips meet with those of his wife. A smile while they kiss, him pushing her backward into the apartment, kicking their front door shut with this foot. He pulls away, slowly, as the sweet smells fill his senses. And he finally lets his eyes leave her face, seeing the dining room set for dinner for two. "You planned this, didn't you?"

"Yes." A sly grin. She pulls him into their dining room, the table dressed in a rich red tablecloth, and tall gold taper candles. And there are two places set, at either end of the small table. "I picked this up from your favorite restaurant." His eyes dance across the table and he suddenly knows exactly what it is. They speak at the same time. "Shrimp and angel hair pasta." She leans in; kissing him once more, and then finally flees, walking to the table where a bottle of white wine has been chilling. She's already corked it, and takes a slow sniff of its scent, just before she pours two glasses. "I knew you would run into that traffic - which gave me just enough time to set everything up." She then walks back over to him and hands him a glass of the wine. "Here you are darling."

Vaughn graciously accepts the glass of wine, and then leans in, kissing his wife once more. "You are amazing," he states, running his hand along her face. And she smiles at him, looking down to the floor and then back up. She is amazing. She sets her glass of wine down and slowly works his suit jacket off of him. He reaches to take his shoulder holster off, and she shakes her head, indicating that she wants him to leave it on. She's feeling frisky tonight, isn't she? She places his jacket in the coat closet and then walks back to her glass of wine, then sits at one end of the table him at the other. "Lauren, this looks delicious."

"It's not like I made it, Michael." She laughs a little, retrieving her salad fork. She waits for him to start eating, and then follows suit. God how she loves to please her husband. But tonight... tonight she's to see what kind of information she can get out of him. Vaughn doesn't take a long time to finish his salad, and then starts in on the main course. This is his favorite meal. She knew it wouldn't take much to get him to eat it all. And so what if she has added a little bit of Sodium Pentothal to his meal - a form of truth serum. She remembers exactly how she did it actually.

Lauren was to the apartment first - carrying the take out with Vaughn's favorite meal inside it. She rushed into the kitchen and quickly pulled a small clear plastic tube from her pocket. Sodium Pentothal. She grabbed a small cup filling it only slightly with boiling hot water. She took one of the yellow crystals out of the tube and dissolved it in the water. Instantly a garlic-like odor began to fill her senses. She then began to prepare the meals, putting the pasta on separate places, and poured the small amount of dissolved barbiturate over his. And she then rushed into the dining room, setting the plates down at their respective places and lit the candles. She went back into the kitchen and took the tube with her. She changed her clothes and hid the Sodium Pentothal in her jewelry box. She showed up in the living room, just as Vaughn pulled up. A smile.

"Well?" She asks of him, as he sits, eating the food. He looks up, smiling. She knows that the affects are only a few moments away. She just has to wait. His heart rate is going to slow down, and he's going to simply feel relaxed - just as she wants him to be. The look on his face starts to suggest that he's nearly there. His facial features are smoothing out, and he continues to eat.

"Ya know, Lauren, I think I'm more tired than I thought I was." She smiles in response. This is it. He's nearly there. And so she takes a slow drink of her wine, and then stands, walking to his side of the table.

She runs her hand through his hair. "Do you want to go to bed?" Her words are so suggestive, and he looks up at her, smiling. A mumbled yes, he stands and suddenly they're rushing back to the bedroom, leaving the dining room as a mess. "Michael," She gasps, feeling as he's kissing her neck. "What did Sark say on the phone?"

"I don't know," his words are muffled into her skin. "He talked to Jack." She frowns.

"Have you been briefed on the Intel this new analyst has?" She asks, as he pulls down the zipper on the back of her dress. She runs her hands through his hair, loving it as he slips her dress off.

"A little bit," He answers. Lauren smiles.


End file.
